Till the red morning light
by Afterglow04
Summary: Four seasons. Four different moments. Or, how Jane and Lisbon's relationship changes over the course of a year, gradually bringing them closer together.
1. Autumn

**Till the red morning light**

**Summary**: Four seasons. Four different moments. Or, how Jane and Lisbon's relationship changes over the course of a year, gradually bringing them closer together.

**A/N**: This is what happens when our crap weather prevents me from actually going out and doing anything productive. I'm still exploring the characters, getting to know them (and having fun with these two hee), so I'm writing these little "moments" mostly for my own benefit. I've had this floating in my head for awhile now, so decided to write it down after all. Basically, it'll be four oneshots, except that they will be loosely tied together as they happen throughout one year. In my mind this takes place somewhere after the season 2 finale and will probably follow its own timeline from there, unless canon decides to be on my side for once. Although, I haven't actually completed any of the others yet, which puts me in a mild state of worry. :s

Spoilers: Probably throughout season 2.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist. Or the lyrics. Those belong to John Mayer. Title stolen from Kings of Leon.

_-xxx-_

**Autumn**

_Nothing to do_

_Nowhere to be_

_A simple little kind of free_

._  
_

Autumn has always been Lisbon's favourite season.

There's absolutely nothing that compares to seeing all of the leaves slowly changing colour, tumbling to the ground, giving everything a soft golden shine. Autumn in Sacramento is a treat. Freed from the heat of summer and its fickle days, the slightly cooler breeze leaves enjoyable temperatures in its wake; a considerable improvement. She loves when all of the trees are suddenly bare, stripped of their beautiful colours, preparing themselves for what's next. A small smile plays on her lips as the outside world passes them by, landscapes flashing alongside their car.

"It really is the most gorgeous time of year."

Jane's soft statement interrupts her musings, though she's not at all surprised he figured out what she'd been daydreaming about. She shifts in her seat to face him, heaving a sigh. Because she hadn't slept much the night before – and because he kept pestering her, stating what a long drive it was and that they should really alternate – she let him get behind the wheel to head back to HQ.

"Yea," she replies. "It always reminds me of when I was a kid, when I used to roll around in a pile of leaves in our backyard, messing around with my brothers."

Before Jane has the chance to make her elaborate, savouring each rare occasion when she divulges a few small details of her past, she switches the conversation back to the case they've just solved. He can almost always pinpoint the exact moment she retreats back into her shell, putting up her self-made defences.

The late October sun is slowly sinking on the horizon, casting a subtle glow across her features, illuminating her eyes as she stares at the road ahead.

"Aren't you glad I persuaded you to take the car instead of flying?" He interrupts after a moment. "You can't see everything this clearly from a plane."

"What would your argument have been if it had been a rainy, windy day?" Her tone of voice is teasing, not quite willing to admit she's actually enjoying the scenery.

"That we're still safer down here than up there."

"Statistics show that you're far more likely to be killed in a road traffic accident than in a plane crash."

"Not with my driving," he easily replies, shooting a grin in her direction, knowing exactly what her opinion of his driving skills is. "Besides, this significantly saves up on general expenses. The CBI budget people will thank me."

His general dislike of flying may be what led to their impromptu road trip, but it's most definitely not the only reason. He's always been used to being on the road, touring the countryside, crossing state after state. Even though he has long since left that part of his life behind him, he has to admit to missing it every once in awhile, which is why he will always prefer taking a car over a plane.

They spent the last week down in Watsonville, working on a case that took longer to solve than he would've liked. Still, they managed to find the murderer eventually, and he and Lisbon stayed behind half a day longer than the others to round up the investigation with the local PD.

"We still have a pretty long drive ahead of us; what do you say we take a break? Stop to have some dinner?"

She casts a dubious glance in his direction.

"I'm not that hungry. Plus, if we keep driving we'll make it back before 9, and I can get started on the paperwork."

"Please, Lisbon. If it hadn't been for my perfect master plan to catch the killer, we could've been stuck there another couple of days. So really, I just saved you some time. The least you could do is take that chance and not think about work for a night."

"Your perfect master plan involved endangering a young girl's life, and you once again did it without my knowledge of the whole scheme. Forgive me if I don't thank you profusely," she replies sarcastically.

"Meh, I didn't endanger her life, I knew the guy was never going to harm her. He was in love with her, it was all so very obvious." He brushes it off with a wave of his hand. "I bet there are some great little restaurants lurking behind every exit here. Come on, let me buy you dinner."

"Why?"

"Because, I want to do something nice for a change. This'll be my way of making it up to you. Though come to think of it, I'm actually quite pleased to say that I couldn't have behaved better on this occasion, and therefore, I don't really have anything to apologise for."

He grins, putting on his most angelic smile.

"Yes, you definitely exercised your usual restraint," she mutters. "Besides, as if you ever apologise. I'd prefer it if you just stopped your shenanigans altogether."

"Hmm, I think we both know the chances of that happening aren't in your favour. Therefore, let's you and I stop for a delicious meal, and that'll be my way to make up for any future stunts I may or may not pull."

He seems to keep his voice deliberately pleasant, making her look at him a little more closely.

"You're starving, aren't you?" she remarks with a clear hint of amusement, a thought suddenly dawning on her. "I told you to eat something before we left, but you wouldn't listen and I knew you'd be hungry later on." A triumphant smirk considerably lightens her features. "Well tough luck and suck it up. You should've listened."

"Yes, mom," he mockingly retorts. "However, there's one small thing that seems to have slipped your mind."

"Which is?"

"I'm the one currently driving this vehicle," he casually says, a huge smile taking over while he's already signalling for the next exit.

They leave the Interstate, and he continues to drive aimlessly about until he discovers a restaurant that seems to meet his criteria. Lisbon has long ago stopped trying to argue whenever his mind is set on something, but when she notices the small building tucked away at the end of the street, she frowns.

"What's wrong with take-away food?" she inquires upon taking in their surroundings. "It'll be much faster."

He looks at her, unconvinced. "Let me be the first to enlighten you, Lisbon, that when something's fast, it's usually never any good."

The smirk and devilish look that accompany his words leave little doubt in her mind as to what exactly he's hinting at. Even if it did, his next observation certainly proves her right.

"Good food is like sex; you have to take your time to fully enjoy it."

Before she has time to think of an appropriate reply, if there even are any, he continues. "And besides, when's the last time you've actually let yourself relax and have a fun evening? Enjoyed a good dinner that doesn't consist of something you put in the microwave?"

Though he does have a point, she's not entirely certain this is the right place to do just that.

"Still, I can think of a few objections."

"Good, you can make a list when we're inside."

"This looks way too expensive, Jane. I can't even pronounce the name."

"Nonsense. Repeat after me: 'La Grenouille'," he says in what even she can hear is a pretty bad French accent, causing her to chuckle.

"It means 'the frog'," he clarifies.

"Oh, well that immediately eases my worry. Consider me convinced," she mocks.

"Now, now, Lisbon. Negative expectations lead to a negative outcome, you know that."

To be honest, she's more worried about the fact that this looks like a very classy, romantic place. It has all the charm of a small and cosy restaurant, as if they are somewhere in the French countryside instead of northern California. And she's had dinner with Jane plenty of times during all sorts of cases, but they're usually joined by the rest of the team. Nevertheless, it's either give in now or face a hungry consultant the entire way back, and one who has the habit of acting like a child when he hasn't had his food at that.

With a small shake of her head, she starts for the door, not entirely unaware of the smile lighting up his face, or his hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her inside.

_-xxx-_

Once they're settled in one of the quiet back corners, she takes a moment to observe her surroundings. The interior has been tastefully decorated, the walls adorned with various old black & white photographs of California's most prominent cities. As small as it looked on the outside, the room they're in is surprisingly spacious, and Lisbon detects a large back patio for people to use during the summer months.

There's a little basket at the centre of their table with cut-up pieces of French bread, a tray of olives, and a bottle of the house wine. She has to admit that the atmosphere in general is very much to her liking, even though it quickly becomes apparent that most tables seem to be occupied by couples.

When she puts her menu aside, Jane offers up a sceptical look from behind his.

"What?"

"You've chosen already? Let me guess," he trails off, skimming the menu. "You'll order the shrimp salad to start with and then... ah yes, the grilled salmon."

She purses her lips, only mildly annoyed that he guessed it right yet again. "Do I detect a hint of mocking in your tone?"

"Of course not, I wouldn't dare," he playfully responds. "Those are excellent, albeit safe choices. You prefer sticking with what you know, you're afraid to try anything new."

"If you're going to suggest I eat frogs' legs, I can tell you right now, it's not happening."

He lets out a laugh, signalling to the waiter that they're ready to order.

"And I'm not afraid, I just think there's less risk involved if you don't go for the unknown," she adds.

"Always the rational decision-maker," he remarks with a smile. "So, what _are_ you afraid of? Is there even anything that scares a fearless CBI agent like yourself?"

"Birds," she replies without giving it much thought, making his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

She doesn't know if he was delving for anything deeper - though knowing Jane, he probably was – but she figures it'll be safer to stay on light-hearted topics, given the restaurant's intimate settings.

"You're afraid of birds?" He doesn't even bother disguising his obvious amusement at this particular fact.

"I'm not afraid of them," she stresses. "I'm just not a fan either."

"Why not? What's wrong with birds?"

"I don't know; they seem so unpredictable. I just feel like they could attack you at any given moment." She shudders involuntarily, causing him to chuckle.

"Now that's an interesting piece of information. A strong, tough policewoman like yourself, and you're afraid of killer birds." He takes a sip of the red wine the waiter has poured them, smiling at her over the rim of his glass.

"Go ahead, laugh all you want. It could happen."

"Oh, of course," he nods seriously. "In an Alfred Hitchcock movie maybe."

_-xxx-_

It's not until their food arrives that she begins to fully relax. The background music mixed with the quiet chatter around them appears to have a soothing effect, taking with them the last of the case thoughts still floating through her mind. Of course, it might also be attributed to the man sitting in front of her, who is proving to be a pretty good dinner companion.

"We should share something," he suddenly speaks up.

"No, thank you. No offence, but your bouillabaisse doesn't really appeal to me all that much," she says, eyeing his plate suspiciously. "You're welcome to try some of mine though."

He laughs, picking up another piece of bread. "No, I mean we should talk about stuff; share things."

"Why?" She sounds alarmed by the suggestion alone.

"Because everybody bonds during road trips, Lisbon – it's part of the experience."

"This is not a road trip," she counters. "Besides, we're not even in the car right now."

"Suppose you were stranded on a deserted island," he continues, undeterred. "Who would you rather be stuck with: Cho or Rigsby?"

"Why would I be stranded on a deserted island in the first place?"

"Aha! You're intrigued, admit it."

"Is this supposed to provide you with some sort of insight into my inner psyche? Like if I say Cho, it'll somehow automatically reveal to you that I have a tendency to fall for younger men?"

He raises one eyebrow in obvious interest. "You have a thing for younger men?"

"No! I was giving an example."

"Well, I'm not Freud."

"No, I imagine you're much worse." Amusement is evident in both her eyes and her words, causing him to smile.

"Dodging my question, huh?"

"I'm not dodging anything; your question is absurd. Although if you want an answer that badly, I can tell you I'd much rather be stuck with either of them than with you." She teases effortlessly, finishing off the rest of her salad.

"Ouch, I'm wounded. But you know I'll get to the truth eventually. I always do."

"Yea, and I have a never-ending pile of complaints on my desk to prove it."

"Oh, please," he gives a vague wave of his hand. "People can never stand it when you lay everything out in the open, and all of those complaints are simply to mask their anger and frustration at getting caught. Nonetheless, I do always enjoy watching one of my plans unfold." A faint, almost reverent look crosses his face and she laughs.

"Oh, really? Even though you get punched in the nose half the time?" she playfully replies.

"Well, what can I say?" he grins. "Perfection has its price."

"So does arrogance," she retorts with a small smirk.

The words instantly resound in her head, wiping the smile off her face as she suddenly becomes conscious of the underlying implication, thinking back to the last time he put that arrogance on display on national television, and what it ultimately led to.

"I didn't mean-" she quickly interjects, but he puts up a hand to stop her, silencing the apology.

"I know."

He offers up a small smile to prevent her from dwelling on it too much; his own way of letting her know it's okay. Yet, to Lisbon, it only serves as a reminder that despite the comfortable environment, despite the light and playful mood, the man sitting in front of her is still very much a damaged one. Even though their daily interactions sometimes make it easy to forget his past, it always manages to resurface in the end.

"So, have you made any plans for Thanksgiving yet? I imagine your brothers have all asked you to visit." He easily changes the subject, turning the spotlight on her, which she has come to understand is some sort of defence mechanism.

"I'm not sure yet," she simply says, giving off one of her standard replies whenever anyone inquires about her holiday plans.

"You should go. They ask you every year, and you always refuse – probably by making up some lame, incredibly transparent excuse – but you should go this time."

His advice makes her look at him sceptically.

"And I suppose you have wildly exciting plans for Thanksgiving?"

"Of course not," he says in a neutral tone of voice, as if it's the most obvious thing. "Then again, I don't have any family left. You do, and I just think they'd all love to see you."

His candid reply takes her by surprise as she briefly wonders if that wine might already be getting to his head, though he's barely had half a glass. Tempted to blurt out that that doesn't mean there aren't people who care about him, she swallows those words quickly.

She rubs a hand across her eyes tiredly. "I'll think about it."

"No, you won't," he immediately cuts in. "We both know you've already made up your mind. I was just hoping to change it."

She's not exactly sure how their discussion started at some deserted island and ended up here, but she knows it's unusual for them to even sweep past a more serious topic. Her initial intention to brush it off and carefully avoid this subject changes when she looks at him to find a kind, encouraging smile on his lips. She wonders if this is just his innate curiosity taking the upper hand, or if it's something more; if he genuinely wants to know because he's interested in the reason behind her decision.

She wavers under his gaze and lets out a frustrated sigh. "It's not that simple, Jane."

"Sure it is," he interrupts.

"No, it's not," she continues in a softer voice. "People don't always just forgive and forget, and particularly with my brother, Tommy, there were some... problems, in the past." She decides to keep it vague, not interested in spelling it all out for him. "Nothing big, but things were said; harsh words thrown back and forth between the three of them and it changed things. I've always tried to keep them all happy, you know, in spite of certain circumstances. It's the only thing that mattered to me after... well, after."

Her eyes have lost their focus, looking past him, having settled on a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge on the opposite wall. Jane is watching her intently, trying very hard to resist the sudden urge to reach out and put his hand on top of hers. It would only be a comforting gesture, but he's afraid it might break her reverie, and he's far too intrigued by this unexpected turn in the conversation. Never before has she seemed as vulnerable as she does right now, trusting him enough in this moment to let the words flow freely.

"And God knows it wasn't always easy. But everyone makes mistakes." She casts her eyes down at the last statement, leaving Jane to wonder if she's still talking about Tommy.

After a moment's pause, he decides to take the risk and gently covers her hand with his.

"I'm sure they'd all be more than happy to see you."

His comforting words have the opposite effect, causing a panicky sensation to flicker inside her. Their conversation is dragging her back to the past, the last place she wants to go. She blinks and quickly slides her hand from underneath his, a small, uncomfortable smile appearing on her lips.

She excuses herself to go visit the ladies' room, and when she returns, the air around her carries nothing of her former vulnerability.

_-xxx-_

"So when were you planning on admitting that my choice of restaurant is excellent?" Jane looks at her smugly, quite pleased at how much she seems to be truly at ease, completely enjoying herself.

"The food was excellent," she nods her agreement. "Though I have to say, the service probably could have been a bit better." She observes as her eyes sweep the room and land on their waiter, who doesn't appear to be in the best of moods.

Jane follows her gaze, turning back around with a solemn expression on his face.

"You should give the poor guy a break; he only found out recently that his wife was cheating on him and she's filing for divorce," he explains casually.

She rolls her eyes at his observation, briefly wondering if he ever makes any of this up as he goes along.

"Don't you ever get tired of reading people?"

"Never. They're far too interesting. Especially when they try to hide all sorts of things." He puts his hands together in a conspiratory kind of way, making her grin.

"Alright, but there must have been situations in the past where you've been completely wrong about someone's personality."

"Very rarely," he huffs. "Need I remind you that I once read you pretty accurately as well? Not to mention the others, they're basically all an open book."

"And need _I_ remind _you_ that you failed to even guess which musical instrument I used to play?"

"Oh, please. I still stick by my story that you probably invented the whole thing."

"Or, you'll have to accept the fact that you can't figure me out so easily after all."

He regards her seriously for a moment, a crooked half smile greeting her.

"You love apples, but only the red ones," he starts counting on his fingers. "You hate arrogant drivers because they remind you of your father, who I'm guessing had more than a few problems with road rage. You don't care for surprises very much, even good ones, because you don't like being unprepared for something. You keep count of every person you've ever shot and killed in the past, because you always feel guilty, no matter what their crime was." He pauses, pretending to ponder over the next one. "Oh, and you can't pee in a public bathroom unless no one else is there."

She frowns, crinkling her nose at the last statement. She doesn't really want to know how he figured that one out.

"How am I doing?" he inquires, a self-satisfied smile already crossing his face.

"Four out of five."

"Really?"

"Alright fine, all of those were right," she begrudgingly admits. "But I bet those apply to a lot of people."

The mild annoyance clearly visible on her face causes him to laugh, and Lisbon lets out a small smile in return. The thought suddenly crosses her mind that there haven't been many occasions when she has heard him genuinely laughing. It's a nice feeling, knowing that she's doing her part in making him forget every now and then, however short-lived those moments may be.

"Your turn," he remarks with a twinkle in his eye.

When she looks at him non-comprehendingly, he elaborates. "Try your skills on me, let's see how you get on."

"Oh no," she shakes her head. "I'm not touching that."

"Oh come on, Lisbon," he pleads, reminding her of a little child who's used to getting his way. "Even though you might not always let on, you're pretty good at figuring people out yourself. Your instincts hardly ever fail you and I know you're almost just as good as me. Almost," he repeats with a grin.

"You mean I don't always brag about it every chance I get, like you do."

"You say potato..." he shrugs, taking another sip of wine. "I promise you I won't be offended."

"As if I'd ever worry about that."

"Then prove me wrong," he smiles expectantly. "Fire away."

She's not one to ignore a challenge, especially coming from Jane, who always seems to know just how to push her buttons and get her riled up. But something's holding her back when she meets his eye, the amused glint signalling he's enjoying this far too much. Perhaps it's the fact he's having a good time, and she's afraid she'll ruin the mood by being too honest in her assessment. Or maybe it's simply because he's far too complex, and she's not confident enough to share her findings. Though she's pretty sure she actually has him figured out, for the most part at least.

He cocks his head to the side, silently attempting to chase the thoughts running through her mind. Leaning forward, she puts her elbows on the table and runs her finger along the rim of her glass, keeping her eyes fixed on the soothing circular motion.

"You have the attention span of a five-year-old," she reproachfully begins. "One of the few indulgences you still allow yourself is food. Your curiosity knows no bounds, but your actual interest in people fades as soon as you discover whatever it is they're hiding. You don't care much about money or material things, at least not anymore, which is why you hardly ever carry any cash. And you tend to shut down your emotions, so as not to show any sign of weakness, which you always use to your advantage, immediately intimidating whoever comes into contact with you. Although I firmly believe you simply don't have a weak spot."

She pauses and looks up to find him watching her carefully, as if transfixed by her words.

"Also, you're generally insufferable," she adds, infusing the mood with some much-needed levity.

When he blinks, the spell is broken and he sends a grin her way, putting his hands together in mock-applause.

"Not bad, Lisbon. Not bad at all."

As he reaches for the menu, he doesn't tell her she was only mistaken on one account. He most definitely does have a weak spot, no matter how much he tries to ignore it or keep it hidden. Though he never allows himself to dwell on that particular thought too long, he's well aware there will come a day when he'll be forced to make a decision, and that is when his weakness will clearly show.

"So," he swiftly continues. "Dessert?"

_-xxx-_

Once they're back on the highway, with Lisbon behind the wheel this time, Jane almost dreads the end of their evening. Tonight served as an escape of some sort, and he always treasures the rare opportunities when he gets to forget everything else for awhile. As the road stretches on in front of them, his mind wanders back, coming to the conclusion that each one of those past moments can somehow be associated with Lisbon. There's an air of tranquillity about her that always seems to put him at ease. He knows this was exactly what she needed as well; shake off the responsibilities for once, and stop worrying about always having to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Or the weight of keeping him in line, for that matter.

"You know, I don't think I ever really apologised for that incident last year."

She looks over at him, but he's staring through the window into the darkness.

"What incident? I'm afraid you'll need to be just a bit more specific."

He shifts in his seat until he's facing her, amused at her mocking look.

"Me getting thrown into jail. Locked behind bars. Leading the prison life, et cetera, et cetera. I could go on."

She rolls her eyes and laughs, sneaking another glance in his direction.

"Why would you suddenly apologise for that? Are you growing soft on me?" she playfully remarks.

"Well, no. I..." he stalls for time, finding the buttons on the radio to be of sudden interest. "I just never really said I was sorry for what you had to do to get me out of there. I know it couldn't have been easy, and yet, you went ahead and did it anyway. And I want you to know I really appreciated that."

"Jane, that was almost a year ago. Why are you thinking of that now?"

Her voice is much softer now, and he suspects his sudden reference to that unpleasant occurrence probably has her thinking of Bosco. Not the smartest move he's ever made, he silently berates himself, because he's never been quite ready to discuss that particular topic with her, and he only hopes it won't put a damper on her evening.

"Because we just passed by the penitentiary," he answers.

"Good, that means we're almost home."

Though he knows it's probably safer to let this subject go instead of voicing his next question, his curiosity gets the better of him once more.

"Why did you go to such an extreme measure to make sure the charges would be dropped, huh? Could it be because _you_ have grown soft on _me_ maybe?"

He words it carefully, going for a joke and merely teasing her out of habit, but somewhat surprisingly, she doesn't allow it to lighten the mood.

"No," she softly begins, taking a deep breath as if to gather up some courage. "But you shot Hardy, who was basically the only link you had to Red John, to save my life. And every time I feel the urge to reach for my gun and shoot you myself for all of the crap you pull, that one particular fact suddenly seems to enter my mind. And you get away with it, yet again."

She's infinitely grateful that she's the one who's driving, as it provides a perfect excuse for keeping her eyes on the road. Jane appears to be slightly taken aback by her honesty, studying her more closely. There's something about her quiet, genuine answer that gets to him, perhaps because he hadn't seen it coming.

Though she can feel him staring at her, can feel his eyes pierce right through her, she fights the urge to look at him, unsure of what she'll find. He remains silent, and she almost asks him the one question that has plagued her on more than one occasion since that particular event. They've never discussed it, like so many other things, but that doesn't mean she hasn't wondered if he ever regrets saving her.

The rest of the ride back passes in relative silence. Her eyes are starting to get weary, which is why she's instantly relieved when the familiar red brick building comes into view further down the road.

"Well, this was fun. We should do this more often," he says, keeping his voice carefully toneless as they get out of the car.

"Sure. I always enjoy spending more hours with you than necessary," she retorts.

He stretches, turning his gaze towards the sky and observing the full moon. There's a chill in the air, and as he turns around to face Lisbon, the moon's soft glow reflects off her curly hair, giving him pause. At times, it's almost scary when he stops to think about how much he's come to appreciate her and everything she does. There's probably little chance he'll ever get to show that appreciation or return the favour in any way, but he knows if there's anyone who gets to him, it's her. He likes to hide behind all sorts of masks, but they both know she's the only one who can really handle him. Though she would probably argue that fact if he ever brought it up.

She looks up seconds later, a faint blush appearing when she catches him staring.

"You're such a gentleman, Jane. Do you mind?" She says sarcastically, gesturing to the bags she's hauling out of the trunk all by herself.

He laughs and shoots forward, taking his small suitcase out of her hands and some of the various files she seems to be struggling with. When they're done putting everything into her car, she takes a step back, fiddling with her keys.

"Thank you," she smiles. "You were right; I probably did need a fun night and it's taken my mind off of things. I really enjoyed myself."

"You say that with such a discouraging amount of surprise, I'm actually a little hurt. I'd hate to say I told you so," he winks.

She rolls her eyes, already regretting her brief moment of gratitude, when he softly adds, "The pleasure was all mine, Lisbon. You make wonderful company."

She's tempted to shrug it off with another joke, something about how she wishes the same could be said for him. But the sincerity of his comment reaches deep within her and has her feeling unexpectedly shy. Though they're only friends at the very most, there's no denying that tonight shared a lot of similarities with what one might call a date. And even if she doesn't particularly want to dwell on that fact too much, she can't completely stop it from entering her thoughts. Something about the way he's looking at her is unfamiliar, almost too intimate as she feels a light flutter somewhere deep inside her.

Trying to diffuse the momentary awkwardness between them, she lets out a sigh and grins at him.

"I'm glad this case is over though. I'll be more than happy to be home and sleep in my own bed again," she says by way of goodbye, already half-turning toward the safety of her car. "Good night, Jane. I'll see you tomorrow."

He offers up a goodnight of his own while she climbs into the driver seat, giving a small wave when she drives off. He stands in the parking lot a moment longer, watching until the taillights of her car become nothing but a blur in the distance. He can imagine her finally reaching the sanctuary of her bedroom, and dropping onto the bed with a satisfied sigh.

"Home," he whispers to himself while he looks to the building on his left, already turning around to head inside.

-xxx-


	2. Winter

**Till the red morning light**

**A/N**: Because I am a sleep-deprived idiot, I completely forgot to thank my beta in the previous chapter. And I'm starting with that now, because she deserves more than just my gratitude for always doing such a good job. So Autumn (**watchyouwalk**), a huge thank you yet again, for wanting to proofread this and for your general support/awesomeness ;)

Thank you as well to everyone who reviewed the previous instalment; it's much appreciated and you've all made me smile. I hope you'll enjoy this next one too, even though it's slightly less...upbeat :p This chapter is also a response to a prompt over at Livejournal's **mentalistprompt** community, which was: _gunshot_.

Spoilers: An extremely brief reference to 2x03.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist. Or the lyrics. Those belong to Mumford & Sons. Title stolen from Kings of Leon.

_-xxx-_

**Winter**

_I struggle to find any truth in your lies_

_And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know_

_My weakness I feel I must finally show_

.

The first thing he becomes aware of when he slowly regains consciousness is her.

His eyes are closed, head throbbing violently, and he doesn't have the slightest clue of where he is, but he knows Lisbon is close by. Faint traces of her perfume linger in the air around him, quelling the initial fear caused by his unknown whereabouts. Instinctively, he knows he's safe if he's in her presence.

Slowly, bits and pieces from the past week's events start resurfacing in his mind, but he pushes the chaotic images aside, instead focussing what little energy he has on trying to open his eyes. With heavy eyelids, it takes a considerable amount of effort to even stay awake. The room he finds himself in is darkened, illuminated only through the soft glow of a few lamps that are barely visible behind the row of expensive machinery. Steady beeps seem to echo loudly in the space around him. Upon noticing an open case file on the corner table, he tries turning his head further to the right but is immediately greeted with a sharp pain, momentarily blinding him.

His gaze falls on her sleeping form, spreading a feeling of warmth inside him he hadn't anticipated. She's tucked into a very uncomfortable-looking chair, which has been pushed closer, head resting on her arms as she lies sleeping on the side of his bed.

He tries to speak before realising he's absolutely parched, mouth so dry it becomes impossible to utter a single word. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand inching closer to Lisbon's even though there's a strain in his shoulder, making the movement difficult and painful. It's the faintest touch, his fingers barely landing on top of hers, but she stirs immediately, waking up with a jolt.

For a moment, she appears speechless, varying emotions crossing her face. Jane doesn't catch most of them through the thick fog clouding his brain, which leaves him feeling annoyed and out of his element. Yet, the concern in her eyes is unmistakable, as is the relief that visibly washes over her when she finds him staring back, a million questions reflected in his gaze. Involuntarily, her eyes well up as a result of too much sleep deprivation and emotion coursing through her.

"Oh, thank God," she whispers quietly, subconsciously touching the pendant around her neck.

She leans closer, instinctively putting a hand on his to study him more closely.

"Hey," she breathes, a shaky smile playing on her lips. One he can't return, though it's not for lack of trying.

Frown lines appear as her features settle into another worried look, a thought suddenly occurring to her.

"I should go find a doctor or nurse to take a look at you. I'll be right back, okay?"

She's already pulling away, but is surprised to find his hand suddenly clutching hers, refusing to let go. When she looks into his eyes, the sight almost leaves her breathless. There haven't been many times in the past when she's seen Jane look at her so unguarded and sincere, but a slight touch of panic alerts her that he most likely has no idea what's going on.

She squeezes his hand, reassuring him that everything will be all right while fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his cheek in a more soothing manner. She offers up a small smile, quickly stepping out the door before he can stop her.

And all Jane can think before he slips back into sleep's comforting oblivion is how much colder this hospital room suddenly feels without her in it.

_-xxx-_

The next time he wakes up, light pours in through the large windows, and she's not there.

The fog has seemingly lifted from his mind for the time being, though a dull ache in his head remains. Various scenes start replaying before his eyes as he closes them again. The Cooper case: a teenage girl who had been found strangled in her own bed, seemed easy enough to solve. Jane quickly figured out she'd had a college boyfriend nobody knew a thing about, and when mommy and daddy had gone away for the weekend, things had gotten out of hand. Emily hadn't known her Mr Perfect had a jealous streak or a history of violent tendencies that apparently ran in his family. So when a male friend had dropped her off at home, giving a friendly goodbye hug, she couldn't possible have expected it would make Jason Tanner snap. Lisbon and the rest of the team tracked the suspect to an old lodge in the middle of the woods that belonged to his grandparents.

Not knowing how big of a liability the guy would turn out to be, she told Jane to stay put in the car while they went in to make the arrest.

He hadn't listened.

It's not as if he deliberately chose to disobey her, but the grounds around the lodge were far too beautiful to leave unexplored. And he didn't expect the arrest to be in the least bit difficult. He doesn't know what led to his current injuries, but at some point he heard gunshots from inside and moments later a tall, bulky-looking guy came running around the corner, catching sight of him.

Jane had the right reflex of putting his hands in the air, trying to convey that he was unarmed. However, the minute he laid eyes on the gun-wielding boy, a wild look on his face, eyes darting in every direction rapidly, he belatedly realised it would be of no use. Jason Tanner was high as a kite and would've taken down anyone that stood in his way.

Unfortunately, that someone was him.

He can't remember the sound of the gun being fired, or the bullet hitting him square in the chest – it all happened too fast. He doesn't recall Lisbon, in hot pursuit of the suspect, coming to a standstill at the sight of him on the ground, an ever-expanding bloodstain soaking through his shirt. But he remembers opening his eyes, seeing her hovering over him, an unidentifiable look etched across her face. He remembers his body going numb, detaching from the pain that burned all the way through him. And Lisbon's face becoming a blur, no longer seeing her clearly, causing panic to wash over him like a tidal wave.

"Jane?"

Her voice swims under the surface of his consciousness, slowly pulling him out of his dream-like state before he has time to puzzle the forgotten pieces back together.

"Jane?" She repeats, her worried whisper carrying softly through the air.

He opens his eyes slowly, immediately searching for hers. She has a coffee in one hand with her Blackberry in the other, and it's only now, in the clear light of day, that Jane can truly see her. In the dimness before, the bags underneath her eyes and the unusually pale colour of her face were in disguise, but her exhaustion is more obvious now.

He doesn't miss the fact that she's wearing last night's outfit, which provides him with a bit of hope that he hasn't completely lost his observational skills. It also means that she only left in search of a much needed dose of caffeine and likely spent the night by his side. That knowledge stirs something deep inside him, unexpectedly tugging on his heartstrings.

A smile graces her features as she finds his eyes trained on her.

"You're awake," she simply states, keeping her voice carefully toneless now.

She walks closer to the bed, suddenly a bit reluctant, not knowing quite how to start.

"How are you feeling?"

It's a simple enough question, yet he has no idea of its answer. There are a million different thoughts running through his head. Frail, flickering images he's trying to link together. He attempts to clear his throat but doesn't produce more than a low grumble, causing her to reach for the glass on his bedside table, gently raising it to his lips. The fresh, cold water offers instant relief.

"The doctor said you'll probably be groggy for a few days, so he advises you to rest as much as possible. He'll be in to check on you regularly."

Jane still discerns traces of worry and anxiety in her eyes when she sits down on the edge of his bed. Another memory suddenly flashes through his mind of him lying on a gurney as it's being pushed inside the ambulance, someone's warm hand tightly gripping his. It's a fleeting moment – just a brief flicker that doesn't last longer than a second – leaving him to wonder if it's not purely a figment of his imagination. He tries to make out more, but his mind won't cooperate and only darkness follows.

"You look like hell," he creaks, turning his attention back to Lisbon.

"Gee, thanks for the compliment. You don't look so hot yourself right now, you know."

"Well yea, but I've been shot," he points out. "Occupational hazard."

She smirks, accompanied by a light shake of her head. "Leave it to you to be flippant in a situation like this."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly 2:00 pm."

"Shouldn't you be at the office?"

"Not really," she shrugs. "The Cooper case is closed; Cho easily managed to get a confession out of the kid, and we're not on anything new yet. So it's basically just the paperwork now, which I'm perfectly capable of doing here."

"You seem exhausted," he observes when meeting her gaze.

"I'm fine," she counters.

"No use in hiding things from me, Lisbon. You should know better by now. I am completely attuned to your every mood, so when you don't feel good, I don't feel good."

"You probably don't feel good for an entirely different reason. And excuse me for thinking you being seriously injured takes precedence over how I'm feeling," she retorts sarcastically.

"How I'm feeling is never more important," he simply states. "Besides, I'm bored already; you're my only form of entertainment."

"The last thing you need right now is entertainment," she says matter-of-factly.

He tries to shift his position, but the entire right side of his body seems to be weighed down, making him grimace in pain. He lets out a frustrated sigh at his current inability to even move an inch and Lisbon gets up, slightly alarmed.

"Do you need me to call a nurse?"

He shakes his head, though it's not at all convincing. She isn't the only one who's exhausted, even though all he's been doing is sleeping. He opens his mouth to ask exactly how long he'll be incapacitated, but she puts a hand on his arm, shooting him a small smile.

"All this talking is using up energy you can't spare. Just lie back and relax for awhile, okay? I'll call the guys and give them an update on things."

Solely for the reason of proving her wrong, he fully intends to stay awake and ask her about the details of the arrest and his injuries when she returns. Yet, when she walks back in five minutes later, he has already given in to the overwhelming desire of closing his eyes.

_-xxx-_

Lisbon stays with him for the remainder of the day, clearly comfortable at the corner table with various files and papers spread around her. When her Blackberry starts vibrating, slowly moving across the table, she takes the call, and he can tell by her body language that it's Cho, probably informing her about a new case. He notices she's deliberately keeping it vague, no doubt trying to confirm her earlier statement that they can do without her at HQ for a change. Though she seemingly brushed it off as being unimportant, Jane knows she's most likely running behind on follow-up work because of him and his current predicament. The realisation evokes a whole new wave of guilt that washes over him as he involuntarily reflects on past moments when he misbehaved, always causing her the most trouble of all. Concluding that the list is endless doesn't really help improve his mood.

"You're doing it again," she suddenly remarks without taking her eyes off the paper in front of her. He didn't even realise she'd ended the call.

"Doing what?"

She looks up with a teasing smile on her lips. "You're staring."

"Well, there's not much else to do, Lisbon," he sighs, choosing not to mention at this time that he quite likes the view anyway.

"You should go home," he says quietly after a moment's contemplation, trying to disguise his genuine concern.

"Is this how you usually treat company?"

He chuckles lightly, but she can tell there's not much enthusiasm behind it. "It'll do you good to get a decent night's sleep in an actual bed."

Lisbon observes him for a minute, silently wondering if he'd like some time to himself or if there's another reason she's not aware of. Whether he's at CBI or somewhere else, when he's not with her or the team, he's always alone, which is a feeling she knows all too well. However, the thought of him in this room alone with his thoughts doesn't sound appealing, and it leaves her with a sense of dread.

"I don't mind staying," she eventually replies.

"I know."

And the fact that he does, that it seems to be such a given she's there and probably has been these past three days, causes a long-forgotten emotion to resurface. It's an emotion he doesn't quite know how to handle anymore, or how to make sense of. The sheer exhaustion radiating from her small frame as she sits before him is a clear indication that she needs to rest. Lisbon detects an almost melancholy expression in his eyes all of a sudden; a certain sorrowful quality, like someone who's just received troubling news and is wondering how to come to terms with it.

A small, sad smile crosses his lips.

"But I'll still be here tomorrow," he adds.

Lisbon nods, as if it's the only reassurance she'll ever need.

Running a hand through her hair before standing up, the overnight bag next to her chair catches her attention. Picking it up and walking closer to his bed, she clears her throat.

"I didn't know where you-," she breaks off, awkwardly fiddling with the zipper. "I bought you a change of clothes."

He follows her gaze, curiosity immediately reaching a peak as he contemplates the items that might actually be in there. It's quickly followed by the realisation that she didn't have any other option since she has no idea where he goes after hours.

"They didn't have any three piece suits though, sorry." She jokingly says in an attempt to lighten the sudden, serious atmosphere in the room, not sure how it managed to appear out of nowhere.

"Thanks," he says appreciatively, clearly surprised at the gesture.

She's putting on her coat, deciding she won't be able to coax any more out of him now, which is probably for the best given his current condition. Mildly amused at the curious glances he keeps shooting at the bag, she gives him one last, stern look.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then. And Jane…," she trails off. "I know you – and I know what a bad patient you can be – so don't make these people's lives miserable. They're only here to help and to do their jobs."

"Why am I getting a lecture? I'm the one who's hurt! Besides, I haven't even done anything," he says indignantly, pretending to sulk.

"Well, this is to stop you from trying. I mean it, Jane. Best behaviour only."

He's tempted to stick out his tongue, but chooses to send her off with a smirk instead. It's not until much later, when he's looking through the bag in search of pyjamas and discovers a few pairs of black boxers instead, that the smile taking over his entire face is undeniably a genuine one.

_-xxx-_

It didn't take him long to put his carefully constructed mask back in place, Lisbon notes wryly. Upon returning next day, she instantly becomes aware of the change in his entire demeanour. He's guarded, aloof and on edge – not surprising given his current surroundings and how much he hates being here.

While the doctor and nurses bustle around him once more, she stays by the window, looking down at the little playground beneath where several children are playing happily, braving the cold and blissfully unaware of the general sadness lingering all around them. Sometimes she wishes she could go back to those carefree days as a child, when everything was still black and white and shades of grey simply didn't exist.

She quickly leaves all thoughts of the past behind when the doctor addresses them both, giving an update on Jane's condition. But she doesn't catch half of it, too busy watching the man in front of her as he stares off into the distance, not bothering to dignify either of them with a reaction. His eyes have lost their focus, leaving her to wonder what could possibly be running through his mind, though she has a pretty good idea. She knows experiences like these – being shot and very nearly killed – are traumatic for anyone, even if said trauma only manifests itself later on. Yet, something tells her Jane will, as usual, try to be the exception, and he'll simply pretend everything's perfectly fine.

She snaps back to attention as the attending physician informs them he's steadily improving and should be allowed to go home by the weekend. But not before suggesting a round of therapy before going back to the office, which sets off alarm bells in Lisbon's mind, and she mentally braces herself for what she knows is coming.

Jane, however, doesn't seem to register any of it, choosing to uphold his indifference as his gaze travels everywhere but in her direction. She thanks the doctor before he leaves, slowly but deliberately walking closer to the bed.

"It's standard procedure in these cases." She doesn't beat around the bush, knowing he's well aware she's referring to the proposed counselling. "And the CBI, as you know, fully supports that. It might do you some good, you know, talking about it to a third party." She keeps her voice neutral, already expecting the difficult discussion that's sure to follow.

"Of course, because that's always the answer. Talking about your feelings," he scoffs sarcastically. "Have you forgotten how well that worked out for you last time?"

She decides to ignore his comment, clearly recognising it for what it is; just an attempt at changing the subject and turning the spotlight onto her. Except she's not the one lying in a hospital bed after suffering an almost-fatal injury.

"Jane, you almost died. It's bound to mess with your head. You're just not thinking straight right now."

"Is that so?" He raises one eyebrow, and a small, condescending smile appears on his face, infuriating her while he still refuses to make eye contact.

"Yes." She crosses her arms defiantly. "You think it makes you strong, suffering in silence, bearing the burden alone?" She continues. "So what if it does? What's the advantage of being strong? It won't protect you against all harm; you're not invincible just because you carry some self-made shield around you. There are still dangerous people out there, who'll lash out uncontrollably and hurt you."

"And you think talking to a shrink is going to help any of that?" He finally turns toward her, his expression unchanged, and the hint of mocking that's clearly distinguishable in his voice only fuels her anger.

"Why not? You obviously won't talk to me." She doesn't bother hiding the accusation in her eyes as she fixes him with a hard stare.

"I saw a therapist for months, Lisbon. I stopped when I realised there was no fixing the broken parts."

After a moment's pause, her quiet voice fills the air, no more than a whisper.

"Some things are worth fixing."

He pauses before answering, looking at her intently. Even though there are no signs of her words having any effect on him whatsoever, they echo in his head, and the hidden hurt in her voice cuts through his heart.

"I'm not," he says softly, but his words are like a slap to the face all the same, causing anger to flare up inside her.

"Why can't you, just for once, be like everyone else?" she asks, frustration bubbling over.

"Because that would be incredibly boring."

"Like any other person who's just been shot?" she continues, undeterred.

"Oh please, please." He speaks harshly, fixing her with a stern look. "Spare yourself the trouble of trying to convince me that this is meant to be some cathartic experience which should have renewed my zest for life."

"You should be happy to be alive – ecstatic, even! And instead, you're sitting here, pouting like a child whose toy just got taken away. Are we actually back to this? Back to the whole 'Would it be so bad if I'd been killed' routine?"

"Would it?" he countered. "Better me than someone else on the team, at least they have something left worth living for. It would certainly take care of a few problems."

"You don't mean that. It wouldn't take care of anything. Nothing, Jane. What could it possibly solve?"

"You're right; that was a silly thing to say, even for me. I at least have to stay alive long enough to catch Red John, because whether I'm dead or not, he's going to keep on killing people," he says, as if he's merely stating the obvious.

Refusing to let the conversation drift off to that particular subject, she carries on, her voice hardening as she goes along. "You really think everyone would just be better off with you gone? Are you honestly still that selfish? What about the team? What about me?" she blurts out the last part.

"What about you?" he challenges after a moment's silence, though his tone of voice is suddenly much more gentle.

He's watching her intently, almost subconsciously willing her to speak her mind, to not hold anything back for once, and the faint sparkle in his eyes alerts her that he's waiting for her to challenge him right back. They never talk about this, preferring instead to keep dancing around certain subjects because it's easier. But apparently, they're still stuck in the same vicious circle where he will just go off on his own every time he feels like it and too bad if he gets hurt. And she'll never be okay with that. The fact that it could very well kill him – that he came so close to being killed a few days ago – has her more worried than she cares to admit. The feelings that rushed through her upon seeing him on the ground outside that lodge, taking in his horror-stricken look, are still clear in her mind. The image of him losing consciousness, slipping away from her despite her best efforts, keeps replaying like a movie she doesn't know how to pause.

"I thought-" She breaks off, frustrated at her own inability to say what needs to be said.

Thankfully, Rigsby chooses that exact moment to swing open the door and come barging in, allowing Lisbon to quickly regain control of her emotions.

"Hey hey, look who's up!" he greets Jane cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy."

Rigsby frowns, slightly confused by the apparent chill in Jane's tone of voice, and turns to Lisbon instead.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Lots of things," she deadpans.

"Yea, but I mean specifically."

"Oh nothing, he's just generally being a pain in the ass. We all know it's what he does best."

She doesn't take her eyes off Jane when saying this, trying to communicate he should stop his ridiculously childish behaviour, but he doesn't offer up any response whatsoever. She knows there are always good and bad days. Over the last few years, Lisbon has become quite the expert at reading his moods, usually quick to detect whether he's having a bad day or not. But that doesn't mean she's always able to figure out what triggers it. There's Red John, of course. That's pretty much a given – one would have to be blind not to notice the obvious shift in his behaviour whenever he's brought up or someone even dares to utter his name in Jane's presence. But there are more subtle triggers too. And it's the less obvious ones that intrigue her, which is why she's always on the look-out for them, trying to determine exactly what causes the dreaded change to occur. She realises half the time he's only putting up a front, hiding behind various masks, smoke curtains and tricks, but there are moments when it's all real too. When _he's_ real. They're not as frequent, but they're there nonetheless. Even if she often struggles to tell the difference, she knows she's gotten better already over time.

Now, however, is one of those occasions when she can't tell what's bothering him in particular, when it's impossible to track his thoughts and know what's going through his mind. By all means, he should at least be happy to still be alive. She simply doesn't understand, and she's not sure she ever wants to. Not this side of him.

When Rigsby becomes aware of the mounting tension in the small hospital room, he breaks the uncomfortable silence, asking to speak to Lisbon privately before they both walk out into the hallway.

Somewhere at the back of Jane's mind, a little voice is telling him he's being unreasonable, and he shouldn't take his anger out on Lisbon by saying things he's not sure he even means. There was a time, not even very long ago, when he could've had this exact conversation with her and he would've meant every word.

But lately, he's become aware of the fact that his views are changing. While catching Red John is still his main priority, something's slowly changing; he's not as driven as he was even a couple of months ago and it unnerves him. No matter how much he tries to disguise that particular fact by lying to himself. By spewing harsh words that Lisbon always happens to be on the receiving end of. And though he has a pretty good idea of what's instigating this particular change, he refuses to acknowledge it. If he doesn't stay completely focussed on his quest for vengeance, there's a part of him that's afraid he won't know what to do or how to act. He doesn't remember how to do anything normal if it doesn't ultimately lead to his finding Red John.

"Was that really necessary?" Lisbon waltzes back in, Rigsby no longer by her side. "They all care about you, and that's how you react to their concern? You really are a jerk."

"Duly noted."

"Alright, you know what? Fine. Fine! Be that way." She walks across the room, angrily putting on her coat and gathering up her things. "You can sit here and act like a child all by yourself."

Not giving him a chance to reply, she turns around without another glance in his direction. She can't bear to just stand there and argue with him, trying to make a blind man see, and Jane wordlessly lets her leave.

He's always been a master at fooling everyone, even the most trained professionals. But right now he's not sure how much longer he can keep fooling himself.

_-xxx-_

Over the next few days, both Cho and Rigsby stop by twice, the latter sneaking in various amounts of food on each occasion for which Jane is more than grateful. Lisbon doesn't come back all week, and when Van Pelt pays him a visit, bringing an actual homemade chocolate cake, he can't stop himself from casually asking about her. She doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as she happily answers him that Lisbon is at the office, and seems to be back to her normal self. When he tries to pry for further information – particularly regarding the reason why she felt Lisbon hadn't been her usual self – they are interrupted by her cell phone ringing, and five minutes later he is alone once again.

The homemade cake is an incredibly sweet gesture, and he actually makes a mental note to thank Van Pelt again the minute he gets back to the office. It's hard to admit, but even despite the foul mood he's been in, he wishes she could've have stayed just a while longer.

Realising he brought all of this on himself does nothing to relieve him of this sudden feeling of emptiness inside. He's tired of everything; tired of the lousy hospital food, the nurses and doctors who keep breezing in and out. He's had it with being bed-ridden, bored and practically helpless because of one situation he hadn't been able to foresee. He's tired of everyone constantly tiptoeing around him, effectively treating him like a baby. But mostly, he's tired of trying to ignore the guilt that rises inside him when thinking of Lisbon, and the angry, hurt look that had crossed her face right before leaving. He can't even remember a time when he went more than two days without seeing or talking to her.

He knows it was her in the ambulance. He questioned one of the nurses endlessly until she finally gave up, promising she'd talk to one of the EMTs who had responded to the call. Apparently, Lisbon had been pretty adamant about staying with him, and even though he can't remember, she'd whispered things to him all the way to the hospital.

By now, virtually all of the staff on this floor know him to be in a constant grumpy, generally bad mood. They avoid him when they can, and he's convinced there's some sort of plot afoot to make his stay even more miserable. Yet, when the attending physician stops by to tell him he'll be discharged that very same afternoon, it's not enough to lighten his spirits.

A nurse stops by briefly to help him pack his things, but she has long given up on friendly chatter around him, enveloping the room in silence. The door swings open, and a wheelchair appears around the corner, immediately causing him to sit up straighter, ready to declare that he fully intends on walking out of this place, and he will use violence if necessary.

But the objection dies on his lips as he hears a very distinct muttering, followed seconds later by Lisbon's slightly flushed face coming into view as she tries to fit the wheelchair through the narrow door. The nurse runs over to give her a hand, positioning the insulting thing right next to his bed before exiting the room, leaving the both of them to stare at each other.

"As if I was going to let you take a cab," she answers the unspoken question in his eyes.

He knows an apology would probably be in order, first and foremost, and not only for the argument they had a couple of days ago. He's always been good with words, can easily make them serve his purpose, whatever it may be. But for some reason, that never translates into being able to express his feelings. Maybe that particular talent fails to function on the rare occasion he actually wants to be honest.

Lisbon stands before him somewhat impatiently, as if already expecting a struggle to get him out of this hospital without attracting too much attention to themselves.

"The doctor told me all the discharge papers have been taken care of, so…," she trails off, avoiding eye contact this time. "You're a free man. I'll take you home."

She turns to look at him before adding, "And I'm really hoping I won't have to point my gun at you to get you into this wheelchair. It's just to take you to the car and I don't care what you say, I'm not taking no for an answer."

He can't help but fight a smile when he wonders why she decided to sign herself up for the task if she considers it to be impossible. He takes her by surprise by rising off the bed slowly and gently sitting himself down.

Lisbon looks dumbfounded for no more than a brief second before she turns around and dumps the bag with his personal things into his lap. If she notices he's wearing the surprisingly comfy pair of jeans she bought him, she doesn't show it.

"Thank you," she simply states.

"Meh, I figured it was time to put my pride behind me."

"Ha!" She lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Now there's a good joke if I ever heard one."

He notices her Mustang in the parking lot immediately. It's a Saturday afternoon, and though he wasn't entirely sure she had this one off, her showing up here in her own car definitely proves it, causing a surge of warmth to spread through him on this cold day.

"You couldn't have brought the SUV instead of your car?" His voice is laced with mock-exasperation. "It would've been so much easier to get into."

"Oh, shut up, Jane. You know, it wouldn't kill you to show a little gratitude every once in awhile."

She's pushing his wheelchair, carefully manoeuvring across the lot and between cars, so she's unable to see the huge smile that's slowly spreading across his face. He doesn't stop to think about the fact that ever since she showed up, his mood seems to have improved significantly.

As he stands up to get into the car, he grimly notices that the strain hasn't completely left the right side of his body, making it difficult to walk without limping.

The drive back from the hospital turns out to be relatively short as he gives her directions to his apartment downtown. They don't talk much, each immersed in their own thoughts, but it's far from uncomfortable. Jane chooses this moment to reflect on the brunette sitting next to him, who's expertly weaving through the busy afternoon traffic. He can tell by her entire demeanour that she's still somewhat upset with him. Yet, when she parks in front of his apartment building, she wordlessly walks around to his side, helping him out of the car.

His left arm is resting on her shoulders, and she's neatly tucked into him, arm circled around his waist in an attempt to keep him steady as they exit the elevator. Coming to a standstill in front of his door, he reaches for his keys while she slowly slips out of his grasp, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he opens up the door.

He walks in, trying to simultaneously stretch his right leg, when he notices she doesn't follow. This is the first time she's been here, seen the very existence of this apartment confirmed, a small fact that doesn't escape either of them. When he turns around, there's an indecipherable look in her eyes, and it's enough to take away any initial worries he might have had.

"Thank you, Lisbon," he looks down, fingering the keys in his hand absentmindedly. "I really appreciate you driving me home."

She gives a small nod as he takes a tentative step closer, still not quite sure how to address the issue. He knows he took it too far before, was well aware of the effect his words would have on her. But he'd been in too much of a bad mood, too stubborn to prevent them from slipping out. He meets her eye this time, hoping she'll see the truth in his statement.

"I didn't say any of those things to hurt you, I hope you know that."

It's not an apology, they both know that. But it's as close to one as she's going to get, and they both know that too.

"Would you like to come in?"

She hesitates, debating whether to let her curiosity get the better of her or just turn around and walk away, pleased to have done her duty as a friend but nothing more. She's still angry with him, and though she's usually not a quitter, a small part of her is still afraid that she's never going to be able to change him, so she might as well stop trying.

"Come on, Lisbon," he gently pleads. "I have that vanilla-flavoured tea you like."

Perhaps this is what ultimately wins her over; the simple fact that he appears to have stocked up on her favourite kind of tea, which he doesn't even drink. Or maybe it's because she actually catches the hint of vulnerability in his voice that he's trying to disguise by acting playful as usual. Regardless of the reason, she suddenly changes her mind, accepting his invitation as she walks past him.

When a thought suddenly occurs to her, she stops short in the middle of his hallway, turning around to face him.

"What I've been meaning to ask you...," she trails off, and Jane swears he can almost see a faint blush appear on her cheeks, though she's trying very hard to appear nonchalant. "When you were unconscious after your surgery, did you hear anything that went on around you? Anything I said?"

"Not that I recall. Why?" he asks, as much puzzled as he is intrigued.

"No reason," she quickly says. Too quickly. "Let's just say I may have used various methods to try and wake you up."

A small smirk graces her lips as she turns around and continues on into his living room, leaving him to stare after her with a grin on his face, a flutter of affection drifting through his heart.

And when he closes the door, he realises it's the first time in years that the dark days of winter seem to carry some light with them.

-xxx-


	3. Spring

**Till the red morning light**

**A/N**: Happy New Year everyone! (As long as it's still January, I'm allowed to say it). I wish all of you a truly fantastic 2011 :) Thank you for all your reviews, each and every one of them never fails to make me smile and I'm happy you all seem to have enjoyed the previous two chapters. I'm sorry for the delay in getting this one up; hectic times! As always, a special thank you to Autumn (**watchyouwalk**) for being my diligent beta!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist. Or the lyrics. Those belong to Ozark Henry. Title stolen from Kings of Leon.

_-xxx-_

_.  
_

**Spring**

_How does it feel_

_To have a key, but not a clue?_

_Now love is dancing frenzied_

_Fooling me and you_

_.  
_

Jane knows something's wrong the minute he steps into Lisbon's office.

More wrong than usual.

The atmosphere feels sub-zero already and he hasn't even opened his mouth yet. He's tempted to start off with a joke, but the green glare directed straight at him makes him swallow it down just in time.

"Good morning, Lisbon. You're looking particularly lovely today." He greets her in a deliberately pleasant tone of voice.

"Jane," comes her simple reply.

Despite the early hour, there are already various files scattered around her desk, and as he takes the seat opposite hers, he gathers she was about to start typing up the latest case report.

"So...," he trails off, clasping his hands in front of him. "Don't you have this weekend off?"

"I do, but I decided to come in today anyway. Though I'm already regretting that particular decision," she mutters before turning around, picking a piece of paper off the pile on her desk and shoving it in his general direction. "I assume you didn't think it was necessary to mention this to me?"

Jane quickly skims the document in his lap, recognising something that resembles a formal complaint from Jeremy McClaren, who was the victim's father in their most recent closed case.

"Hmm, yes. That does sound vaguely familiar; it might have been me."

"It might have been?" Lisbon snatches the paper away, ostentatiously starting to read aloud. "'When my son and I arrived home and walked along our driveway, we noticed a tall blonde man snooping around our tool shed. Upon closer inspection, I was able to identify him as Mr Patrick Jane, who was behaving rather suspiciously.' Do I need to carry on?"

"That's a gross overstatement," he immediately counters. "By no means was I acting suspiciously - I was merely having a closer look at certain loose ends. In fact, when they approached me, I made absolutely no trouble of explaining why I was there."

"You mean why you were on their property unlawfully?"

"Oh, please. It was hardly unlawful, their gate was open."

"When you don't make your presence known and just walk in without the owner's consent, it's called trespassing, Jane. After I'd specifically told you to stay away because we knew Mr McClaren has a hot temper. And why was I once again not informed?" Lisbon sighs, putting the paper back into the case file.

"Meh, at that point we hadn't excluded the father as a possible suspect. I wanted to be sure he was as innocent as he looked." Jane simply shrugs, signalling that the subject's closed as far as he's concerned.

"And what if you'd found proof that he was guilty? Do you think that evidence would've held up in court? You know it would've been inadmissible, because you went in without a warrant, as usual. And even the dumbest criminals are aware of that these days thanks to all those ridiculous crime shows on TV, which is why I explicitly asked you to leave it alone." She turns her eyes back to the computer screen, heaving a resigned sigh. "But you know what, from now on I just won't bother asking you anything in the first place. It seems to have the complete opposite effect anyway."

Lisbon's fingers never leave the keyboard as she tries to appear unaffected, but the poorly disguised hurt in her voice, accentuated by a cheerless smirk, makes him wince. There's a nagging feeling in the back of his mind; it unnerves him to think that he's the one causing her current distress, since it hadn't been his intention. But he honestly hadn't expected her to take his latest endeavour this badly. After all, the father wasn't the killer, and no irreparable damage had been caused, so her reaction appears to be somewhat unjustified.

"Oh, come on, don't be such a drama queen. The only reason I didn't tell you is because I didn't think it was a big deal. Besides, he turned out to be innocent after all, and if they hadn't come home at that exact time, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Also, technically I didn't break in. I was only in their backyard." He pauses, before deciding to follow his hunch. "Now, why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"

Her forehead creases in concentration when she studiously looks at the screen and keyboard, avoiding all eye contact.

"Lisbon?" he prompts.

"You're what's really bothering me, Jane," she says stubbornly, shooting another quick glare in his direction. "I've come to realise that it's probably just wishful thinking on my part, hoping you'll stop all of your childish ways."

Though she doesn't meet his eyes, an indefinable myriad of emotions seems to cross her face, confirming his suspicion.

"Lisbon," he gently says. "I know you, and I can tell when something's wrong. And we can dance around it a little, but honestly, I don't really feel like playing that particular game with you. So why don't you just talk to me?"

She lets out a short, sarcastic laugh. "Oh, really? You don't want to play games with me? That's funny, sometimes it seems like that's all you ever do."

"Please, is that honestly what you think? That I'm always playing you?" He asks incredulously.

"You've yet to prove me otherwise," she icily points out. "It was foolish of me to even think you'd actually listen this time. Just when I'm starting to buy your whole friendship act, you go behind my back like you always do, reminding me that absolutely nothing has changed."

"Don't be silly, of course you're my friend." Jane says earnestly, leaning forward in an attempt to determine exactly what's troubling her. "Where is this coming from?"

"It's not coming from anywhere; I'm simply stating the obvious," she retorts. "I'd specifically asked you not to push this guy's buttons, and the fact that you went ahead and did it anyway goes to show that you clearly have no respect for me whatsoever. After always going on about trust, Jane, I'm finally starting to see just how much you actually care about any of that. But it's good to know what I mean to you, so thanks for that."

"Lisbon, that's absurd - you're acting as if I've committed some heinous crime. Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it."

That last statement makes her turn her head sharply and the initial relief Jane feels at finally having succeeded in getting rid of the resigned air around her disappears quickly when it's replaced by anger. If looks could kill, he's pretty sure he'd be dying a slow and painful death right now.

"No, you're not," she replies angrily. "You're not sorry about anything. You're _never_ sorry about anything, until it's too late."

Surprise registers on her face, and Jane presumes she most likely hadn't meant for that to be said out loud.

"Okay. I'm fairly certain my disobeying one of your orders usually doesn't merit this kind of response, so whenever you're ready, I'm here to listen." He calmly replies after a moment's pause, determined not to let this go.

Lisbon looks down when noticing his genuine expression of concern, mentally scolding herself for such insensitivity, her hands nearly crumbling the sheet of paper she's holding. Evidently, deciding to show up at work after all had been a mistake. She'd spent most of the night lying awake, staring at the menacing shadows dancing across the ceiling, and after barely two hours of restless sleep, she'd made up her mind to just get dressed and head to the office, unable to bear being alone with her thoughts any longer.

Once again using work as her preferred escape route.

But learning upon her arrival that she would have to start the day by dealing with another official "Jane complaint" had simply been the final straw. Even if it was only something minor, something she would usually scold him for and move on, it had made her lose her patience.

And on an utterly ridiculous level, a feeling of betrayal and doubt had swept through her, a bitter reminder that despite the friendship she thought they had, it clearly couldn't stop him from continuing his rebellious ways.

"Just go," Lisbon sighs, all traces of irritation gone, leaving only disappointment behind. She rests her head in her hands, rubbing her temples to ward off the impending headache. "I'm not in the mood to argue with you. Just leave. Please."

The thought of her being in pain, whether physically or emotionally, prevents him from doing as she asks. The vulnerability that shines through as she sits in front of him with her eyes closed makes his heart ache, and he almost wishes he could go back and change that day's events. If he could do it over, he'd listen to her request and stay away from the McClaren's home.

Jane gets up, preferring to sit down on the edge of her desk as he puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. Before having the chance to utter a single word, Lisbon jerks away, and he's surprised to discover her eyes are glistening right before she blinks the unshed tears away. Whether they're tears from anger, disappointment or pain, he can't tell. Her mind seems to be a fortress right now.

"Forget this," she suddenly exclaims, standing up abruptly. "I was supposed to have today off anyway. I should've just stayed home in the first place."

"Lisbon," he urges, though it's no use this time. Nothing he says will make her stay or tell him what's truly bothering her.

And without another word, she pulls her jacket off the chair and disappears out the door, leaving Jane to stare after her, finding it oddly disconcerting to feel completely clueless for the first time in years.

_-xxx-_

A shrill sound interrupts her dream and she twists around, hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness as her head gets buried in the nearest pillow, trying to drown out the intrusive noise. She lazily opens one eye, the red letters on her alarm clock indicating it's just past 6am. Inching closer, she reaches out her hand and forcefully hits the snooze button, already planning on sinking back into the comfy pillows for a good ten minutes, when nothing happens. The irritating ring continues to echo loudly through her bedroom and, belatedly, she realises today is a Sunday, meaning there's no reason at all to get up. Lifting her head unwillingly, her gaze falls on the Blackberry vibrating across the nightstand, its tune now suddenly familiar.

She stretches to snatch it away, intent on shouting at the insolent creature who decided to wake her up at this ungodly hour. She groans when catching a glimpse of the flashing name on the screen.

"Lisbon," she sleepily answers.

"You're late for breakfast."

Jane's voice seems entirely too upbeat this early in the morning, causing her to hold the phone a bit further away from her ear while trying to make sense of what he's saying, previous thoughts of much-needed lecturing suddenly lost in confusion.

"But I never agreed to breakfast," she stupidly responds.

"Well, you're awake now, so you might as well come down and have breakfast with me."

She can hear the smile in his voice as another frustrated sigh escapes her lips. Sometimes, she truly curses the day she ever signed on with him.

_-xxx-_

Jane's standing in her doorway, shamelessly gaping at the sight in front of him. Lisbon opened up the door while rubbing her eyes, hair tousled and sticking in every direction, wearing nothing but her pyjamas. Jane can't help but think this is definitely the most adorable sight he's ever seen.

Of course, that could also be attributed to the fact that she's wearing M&M pyjamas. It's an intriguing combination of a tank top featuring a very smug-looking red M&M on the front, grinning in his direction, and a pair of bright red shorts that cover everything they're supposed to, but that's about it. He hasn't been speechless very often in the past, yet at this exact moment, he's at a complete loss for words. Even the usual ever-present smirk or grin gets left behind; he's unabashedly staring.

"Well, this is quite the reception," he remarks.

Lisbon glares at him. "What the hell, Jane, do you know what time it is?"

Though he's been expecting her annoyance, somehow the noticeable frustration combined with the frown on her face all appear harmless as she's scowling at him wearing candy pyjamas. It's incredibly endearing, and Jane fears it might slowly drive him crazy.

The object of his current scrutiny must have finally noticed his appreciative glance, because her gaze drops down before she mutters, "I couldn't find my robe."

She turns around, heading for the hall closet, at which point Jane is greeted with the word "Irresistible" written on the back of her shorts, across her butt. His eyebrows shoot up and he can't resist smiling. Well, who is he to disagree?

Lisbon takes out an old, grey raincoat and puts it on, turning around to see Jane still shooting a brilliant smile in her direction.

"What are you grinning about?" She asks, grumpily tying up the belt at the front.

"Nothing. Just hadn't picked you for being the cute PJ type." He smirks while closing the door behind him.

A faint blush warms her cheeks while she bites her bottom lip to prevent the corners of her mouth from curling up into a small smile. It's useless though - he catches it all the same, secretly pleased for making it appear.

"One of my brothers sent me this last year; the kids bought it for me as a Christmas present." She says by way of explanation, tucking a silky strand of hair away before adding, "I thought it was cute and they're surprisingly comfy."

Jane's beyond amused that she seems to feel the need to defend the reasoning behind wearing it. As if he isn't the one who showed up at _her_ door unannounced at 6am.

They stand awkwardly for a long moment, merely looking at each other as Lisbon's smile slowly fades and she crosses her arms in front of her.

"Look, not that I don't enjoy discussing my sleeping attire with you, but why are you here?"

"You enjoy discussing your sleeping attire with me?" He gives her his signature grin, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Jane!"

"Oh, relax. I brought you breakfast, see?" He waves a couple of small bags around for emphasis.

Letting out a sigh, she runs a hand through her hair in exasperation and pinches the bridge of her nose, plotting several ways to get rid of him. By this point, she won't even exclude violence; it's simply a crime to be woken up this early on a Sunday. When she looks back up, he's closed the space between them, standing right in front of her. Slightly startled by this sudden proximity, she instinctively tries to take a step back only to be reminded they're still in front of the closet, and there's nowhere to go.

Jane's lost his teasing smile, his face now revealing signs of anxiety as he regards her seriously. She blinks, unsure of when this transition took place, vaguely wondering if she might still be stuck in some unidentified dream. There have only been one or two occasions in the past when she's been fortunate enough to witness actual sincerity reach the surface, trumping his usual façade. Though one can never be sure where Jane is concerned, Lisbon's not used to seeing him direct this particular look at her. Usually, he always meets her with cheery demeanour and smile intact.

The moment he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and avoids her gaze, is when Lisbon notes with a shock that he's nervous.

His body language easily betrays him, because by now she's learnt to recognise the clues; his habit of looking down, slightly uncomfortably, whenever he feels what he's about to say is important. The unfamiliar twist in her stomach takes her by surprise as Jane aims his blue eyes back at her before clearing his throat.

"I wanted to apologise," he says softly.

Okay, now Lisbon definitely knows she's dreaming. This is completely unprecedented.

His honest apology catches her off guard, especially considering the fact she should probably apologise to him just as much. Her own harsh words from the day before seem to reverberate through her mind, involuntarily making her flinch. She looks up at him, waiting to see if he'll go on, not sure what kind of response he's expecting from her. However, Jane simply watches her calmly, probably trying to gauge her reaction or actually read her mind; she wouldn't put it past him.

When sensing her unease, he takes a step back, silently berating himself for not having had the patience to show up here at a decent hour. He very rarely feels the need to justify his actions or words, but he does to her, and the thought of Lisbon being disappointed in him - even for something as small as yet another official complaint - had agonised him for the better part of the night as the same sentence played through his mind.

_'"It's good to know what I mean to you."_

She has absolutely no idea what she means to him. But then again, how could she? At this point, _he _doesn't even know anymore; the very fact that he's here proves that. He's always been so sure of Lisbon, the only constant in his otherwise chaotic world, and he figured their mutual respect for each other had always been obvious. So for her to suddenly start questioning that now is absolutely preposterous. He may put on a lot of different acts to entertain the masses and mostly himself, but he couldn't possibly fake his friendship with her, surely she must know that.

"You look a little dazed. Why don't I make you a cup of coffee?"

Before Lisbon has a chance to reply, he's whirling around her kitchen, suddenly back to his old self.

She walks over to the table, dropping down on the nearest chair and resting her head on her arms. When Jane puts a steaming mug in front of her minutes later, the deliciously strong smell of coffee seems to awaken all her senses instantly. Gratefully, she wraps her hands around the warm ceramic mug to fend off the chill, heaving a contented sigh.

Jane looks at her, an amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "What? You're not going to order me out of your apartment? Demand that I leave instantly?" he inquires.

"Why bother?" Lisbon replies. "It's not like you ever listen to me anyway."

"Quite the contrary; I listen to everything you say, every little detail in fact. However, it does happen on occasion that I don't follow an order when you tell me to do something. There's a difference."

"On occasion?" she repeats incredulously.

Lisbon's hands instinctively find their way into one of the bags, curiosity taking over as she peeks inside. A smile breaks through when she retrieves a chocolate croissant, suddenly realising just how famished she is. As Jane hands her a plate while he snoops through the rest of her cupboards for more breakfast items, she takes out a blueberry muffin, putting it on the plate opposite hers.

"What happened to 'those aren't good for you, Lisbon, you should really eat something a little healthier'?" She asks sarcastically, waving one of the croissants around before biting into it enthusiastically.

"Well, once a week won't kill you. Plus, I figured you deserved a little treat." He smiles back while dunking his tea bag repeatedly before throwing it away.

"You brought your own tea?" She observes, mildly amused.

"Of course."

"What's wrong with mine?"

"You don't actually expect me to drink that flavourless, bland stuff of yours, do you? But not to worry, I brought a few boxes of my favourite brand just for your convenience. I'll store them here somewhere, so you can at least offer me a decent drink next time I come over." He smirks as Lisbon rolls her eyes at him.

They eat in comfortable silence for a little while, something they've gotten quite used to by now. Instead of stopping by Marie's for a quick breakfast - or skipping it altogether - Jane had gotten it into his head a couple of weeks earlier that her eating habits desperately needed to change. Which, half the time, resulted in her stopping by his apartment in the morning for breakfast. Part of her is still convinced he simply uses it as an excuse to show off his cooking skills but some other part, that she keeps buried most of the time, makes her look forward to each of those mornings. She's flattered by the noticeable sign of concern, realising it's Jane's own way of letting her know he cares.

"Today's the 19th." He observes out of nowhere, causing her to look up at him with apprehension, a flicker of surprise evident in her eyes.

Lisbon rubs her cheek tiredly, pointedly toying with the spoon in her coffee instead of meeting his gaze. She should've known he would figure it out eventually; he always does one way or another.

"Which means that yesterday was the 18th," he adds after a moment, when she fails to respond.

"Well, don't let anyone ever tell you you're not psychic," she replies, but there's neither sarcasm nor laughter to her words.

"It actually didn't hit me until I was already on my way over here." Jane ignores her comment, waiting for her to look up at him. "I'm sorry, Lisbon. I should've made the connection."

"There's no need to be sorry," she counters immediately, but tense nerves and a tired mind make her words harsher than she intended. "It was a long time ago," she adds in a much softer voice, keeping her eyes trained on the table as a sense of sadness inevitably takes over.

"That doesn't mean it hurts any less," he remarks carefully, knowing the feeling associated with grief all too well.

Even if she had only been twelve, it was quite possibly the worst time in a young girl's life to lose her mother, not that there's ever a right time. Jane knows at that particular age, Lisbon's mind had already been filled with precious memories, which might have eased the pain initially; she would've been grateful for at least having been able to spend twelve years with her mother, as opposed to her younger brothers who would never have that privilege. But eventually those memories become a curse as they turn into haunting images that surface in dreams, never letting the pain stray too far. A bittersweet reminder of better days and what could have been.

They say time heals all wounds, but Jane figures whoever came up with such a ridiculous notion had probably never been wounded beyond repair.

"It's silly, really," she breaks the silence. "It's the first time in years I didn't have to work on that particular day and I had no idea what to do with myself. If I don't have the job to distract me, I inevitably think about it too much."

Underneath all of the defences that she always drags around like a child's security blanket, Jane knows there's pain that still lingers there, something he can relate to quite easily. Lisbon won't show anyone that part of herself, even if she's been less closed off than she used to be, especially around him. Which is why, as understanding of what had been bothering her reached him, he'd actually felt a little hurt in realising she hadn't confided in him.

"Why didn't you call me?" He asks, unable to keep the accusatory note out of his voice. "Or at the very least tell me what was wrong yesterday."

Lisbon doesn't look away as she appears to be debating the answer, allowing Jane to carefully study her features for a moment. The soft yellow glow of her kitchen light envelops her, and when it hits her eyes, it makes them shine like emeralds, sending a shiver through him which he tries hard to suppress.

"Strangely enough, my initial reaction yesterday morning was indeed to call you, so it did cross my mind," she sighs. "Then I figured I wouldn't be able to hide that I was upset, especially from you since you'd definitely sense something was wrong, and you'd start prying. You have that annoying tendency of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," she jokes. "Given that I didn't particularly want to talk about it, I decided against that option and drove to work instead. It was the lesser of two evils," she adds, shooting a small grin in his direction.

He finds himself smiling along, somewhat satisfied she'd at least had the impulse of picking up the phone. "How could you ever think I would've pried?" he asks in mock indignation. "I might have just let it go if you didn't want to tell me."

"Right, so I assume this is a purely social visit then?" She teases, before a thought suddenly dawns on her and her brows furrow, confusion lacing her delicate features. "Wait a minute. If you only became aware of _why_ I was upset on your way over here, then that means you didn't stop by just to see if I was okay. You actually did come over to apologise."

The sheepish look that fleetingly crosses his face earns him a smirk.

"That's a first. Patrick Jane, so anxious to know if I was angry over his latest stunt that he shows up before dawn," she chuckles. "It must've bothered you quite a bit."

Lisbon's teasing tone of voice immediately lightens the mood considerably, yet Jane remains silent for a moment. It's uncanny how well she's gotten to know him. Lately, he's constantly had to deal with Lisbon blindsiding him when he least expects it, when he's not prepared, essentially complicating his life in a way that leaves him terribly confused. Slowly but surely breaking through every one of his self-imposed barriers is a skill she seems to be perfecting, and he still isn't sure whether he likes it or not.

Though he knows his deliberate disobedience might not have been what had caused her initial distress, finding another official complaint on her desk probably hadn't helped matters much either, and it had been enough to leave him eager to apologise.

"I knew it wasn't the only reason you were upset, but you're right; I was worried," he finally acknowledges.

His eyes never abandon hers as Lisbon's teasing smile slowly fades while that small confession sinks in. She conjures up their conversation of the day before, aiming an apologetic look at Jane.

"I'm sorry about what I said yesterday. About...you never having any regrets. I was angry; I didn't mean it."

He opens his mouth, intent on assuring her he didn't take it the wrong way, but she swiftly continues, not providing the opportunity.

"Besides, we both know I completely overreacted. I wasn't so much angry at you as I was annoyed. Which I usually am on a daily basis," she briefly chuckles. "I actually have to admit that your behaviour seems to have improved significantly these past few months. Though if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it."

Lisbon smirks, hoping it's enough to make him understand their argument had been nothing more than her latching on to the first thing that provided an outlet for pent-up frustrations.

"Meh, it's been relatively calm lately anyway. Not a lot of ways for me to misbehave if there's a lack of entertaining cases."

He doesn't give her time to dwell on the subtle dishonesty of his answer as he drops the last chocolate treat on the plate in front of her.

There's no other reason for this apparent shift in behaviour than the fact that Lisbon had begun to trust him, and though it's a considerable effort on his part, he's been trying to keep his truly outrageous acts at bay. At least most of the time, since unfortunately, there will always be more ways to do things wrong than to do them right, especially if he's in the picture.

When he looks past her, he decides to inquire about the pictures on her fridge that caught his eye before. There's one of Lisbon and a girl with long auburn hair, both around 20, standing in a fountain, laughing as they splash each other with water. Lisbon's smile is powerful enough to stop any train of thought immediately, making him shift his focus to the photo on the right. It features both of them again, but this one is visibly more recent, can't have been taken more than a few weeks ago. Lisbon has her arm around the other woman, whose hair is now cropped a lot shorter. Both of them are smiling brightly and holding up some exotic looking cocktail.

She's watching him curiously when he nods his head towards the fridge.

"Who's that?"

As she turns around and follows his gaze, a smile automatically seems to settle across her features, bringing to mind the memories associated with those shots.

"That's my best friend, Lizzie," she clarifies. "We've known each other since kindergarten and basically spent our whole childhood together. She lived on our street."

Ah, no wonder this isn't one of the girls she had tried to push away, Jane muses, they had known each other for too long.

"Lizzie and Lisbon. You've got to love a good alliteration," he says with a twinkle in his eyes, causing her to laugh.

"Well, I'm just Teresa to her."

"Hmmm, didn't you ever have a nickname when you were younger? Like...Terry? Ooh, Terry and Lizzie. That rhymes!" He grins excitedly.

"Terry? If you call me that again, I'll hurt you." She raises one eyebrow in a menacing kind of way, but it's quickly dissolved by her accompanying smile

"I bet you two were a pair," he casually remarks.

She feigns indignation, but the devilish look doesn't weaken.

"Whatever you're thinking, it's wrong. I'm a cop, so by definition, I've always been a very good girl." She says, giving him her most angelic smile.

"Ho, somehow I doubt that."

Her laughter echoes off the walls as she shakes her head. "Never was much use in lying to you."

"Sadly, no," he leans closer over the table, "you're an open book."

She gazes at him over the rim of her mug, thinking it best not to comment on that particular statement.

"Actually, no, that's not true," Jane suddenly amends. "I have to come clean and say you had me feeling reasonably ignorant yesterday. I had no idea what was going on and I can safely say I didn't like it."

"Well, then you actually felt like the rest of us for once," she scoffs.

"Does she live far away?"

In her sleepy state of mind, it takes Lisbon a moment to understand he's referring to Lizzie again.

"No, not that far. She lives in San Francisco with her family, so we still see each other a lot. She came over to visit two weeks ago with Julie – that's her youngest – she's in the bottom right picture."

Sure enough when his eyes drop lower, he sees a little girl of about 3 sitting on top of Lisbon's shoulders, beaming into the camera, holding a stuffed elephant.

"That was taken a few months ago when we went to the zoo for Julie's birthday," she elaborates.

A thought occurs to him when he catches Lisbon fingering the cross on her necklace. "You're her godmother."

It's more of a statement than a question, even though he isn't completely sure about his guess, but her eyebrows raise in surprise.

"I am, how on earth did you know that?"

"Actually, I didn't. But since you and her mother are best friends, it's obvious she would choose someone very close. You spend the girl's birthdays together, and when you were talking about her, you kept stroking the cross around your neck, so I figured there might be a religious link there as well."

She shakes her head before downing the last of her coffee. "Right. Forgot who I was talking to for a minute."

Jane had absolutely no idea she was some little girl's godmother, though he's not surprised. While most people at the office probably believe her to be a workaholic without any kind of social life, he knows better. While the job is undeniably a big part of her life, it's not all she lives for.

Still staring at the pictures, he's captivated by how genuinely happy Lisbon looks in all of them. Particularly because, at work, they're always surrounded by death, constantly chasing the bad guys, making sure people don't hurt one another. It often makes it easy to forget there are good things in life too.

He has now come to terms with the fact that Lisbon is one of those good things to him, and he's convinced he's not worthy of the faith she puts in him. It warms him to know that even if her family members don't live close-by, she still has people in her life that she loves and cares about. No matter how much Jane likes to think of her as a kindred spirit - someone who understands - that little detail only serves to remind him, yet again, that she's not as damaged as he is.

Not by a long shot.

_-xxx-_

More than an hour later, Jane's finishing up the dishes while Lisbon disappeared upstairs in search of her missing robe. When she re-emerges shortly after, she finds him standing in front of her kitchen window, still as stone, staring intently at a couple of birds as if they're the most wonderful thing he's ever seen. The small smile visible on his lips is tinged with melancholy and Lisbon suspects she caught him at an unguarded moment, his own thoughts drifting somewhere in the past.

"You didn't have to do those alone, you know." She remarks, almost reluctant to pull him out of his reverie, pointing at the sink while he focuses his attention on her.

"Still couldn't locate your robe, I see." Jane smiles, taking in the comfortable tracksuit she changed into before furrowing his brows. "I preferred the pyjamas, you know. The rich red colour looks lovely with your hair."

Lisbon rolls her eyes as she moves past him, avoiding his penetrating gaze when his statement causes her stomach to do a little flip-flop.

"We should do something," he speaks up, his gaze fixed on the outside world again.

"Such as?" Her voice is laced with equal parts amusement and confusion.

"I don't know, anything. I have a feeling it's going to be a gorgeous day, and I've found I quite like this time of year. Everything that appeared to be dead or broken for weeks is coming back to life, more beautiful than before. It's as if everything and everyone simply gets offered a new beginning. A fresh start."

It almost seems as though he's completely forgotten she's even there, his last words barely over a whisper as they carry faintly through the air. Lisbon swallows as his words strike a sensitive chord, forcing her to remember that she usually associates this month with endings instead of beginnings.

He turns to face her seconds later, already back to his smiling self.

"Let's go running! You enjoy that, don't you? It's a beautiful morning, Lisbon - we should go out for a run."

A mental image of Jane running alongside the river in a three-piece suit flashes before her eyes, and she inadvertently laughs at his enthusiasm and the sheer absurdity of his suggestion.

"I'd be wearing something a little more casual, of course." He smirks, having no trouble deciphering her thoughts.

"Thanks, Jane. But I think I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind. I haven't slept in what feels like weeks, and I'm just going to be lazy all day," she smiles.

There can be no other explanation than sleep deprivation if she's even thinking that going out for a run with Jane may not be such a bad idea after all, if only to see him in a sports outfit. When she catches his sceptical look – apparently unconvinced he should leave her alone all day - she adds, "I promise you I won't wallow in self-pity, all right? But I'm off next Sunday as well, so maybe we can do something then, if you're free?"

They both know he's free. He's always free, but he appreciates her asking all the same.

"It's a date," he smiles. "Though maybe we shouldn't go running."

"Maybe not," she agrees.

"How come we never hang out here?" He abruptly changes the subject, letting his eyes travel around her living room as he opens up the front door.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it just occurred to me that every time we have breakfast or the occasional dinner, it's always at my apartment," he clarifies.

"That's mostly because it's on my way to HQ. It just makes more sense," she shrugs.

"I still think we ought to alternate. I like your apartment; it has a nice atmosphere," he states. "I kind of miss your unpacked boxes though; such an original way of decorating. It really added something to the room."

The sound of her laughter reverberates through his body, making him refocus on her smiling eyes, and in this exact moment, he realises with a jolt that he wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss her. Perhaps it should be an unpleasant realisation, but the mere thought of how easy it would be to touch his lips to hers and _show_ her what she means to him rather than trying to spell it out very inarticulately, is almost overpowering. They both seem to know it; Lisbon can sense the sudden change instantly as his eyes briefly flicker down to her lips, suddenly a slightly darker shade of blue.

Even though the fine line between them that supposedly serves as a professional boundary may well have become a vague blur in the distance long ago, they've never actually physically crossed it. The opportunity has presented itself, on occasions similar to this one or during brief moments of comfort, but it feels as though neither of them wants to be the first to take that fateful step. Though they enjoy each other's company, and there's an undeniable attraction radiating between them, they're both fully aware that taking it any further would most likely be a foolish and possibly dangerous move. It would complicate things between them considerably, so Lisbon can't help but wonder what brought this on. Maybe it's the fact her unruly consultant truly had felt guilty for once, but she's unable to decipher what's running through his mind. These are unfamiliar waters, and even though she appears to be the epitome of calm, the way her heart suddenly started beating just a little faster tells a different story entirely.

Before Lisbon has time to reflect on exactly how she should react, Jane inches closer, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. He brings his lips to her cheek instead, giving a barely detectable, feather-light kiss that makes Lisbon close her eyes all the same.

His mellifluous voice fills the sizzling air around them and his warm breath caresses her face as he whispers softly in her ear. "I hope you'll be able to forgive me one day. For everything I put you through."

The wistfulness of the comment catches her off guard, and he doesn't crack a smile, the seriousness in his voice clearly distinguishable. On that final note, he turns around, heading back towards his car.

She leans against the doorjamb, watching him walk away, and silently sighs, "I already have."

The sun has just begun to rise, casting its first rays onto the still sleeping world and colouring the sky beautifully. Shivering against the early morning chill, she tucks her hands into the pockets of her sweater, looking down in confusion as her right hand retrieves a small slip of paper.

Folding it open as she goes back inside, one short line stares up at her, written in Jane's perfect, immaculate handwriting.

_Red M&M's have always been my favorite kind._

-xxx-


	4. Summer

**Till the red morning light**

**A/N**: This turned out a lot longer than intended, because I wanted to try and keep it _somewhat_ tied to canon instead of just getting rid of RJ and wrap things up. I also didn't want it to be completely rushed, so apologies for having one ridiculously long chapter. But I couldn't split it into two parts, given there's only one summer (sadly), heh. Thank you to everyone who left a review (especially the anonymous ones as I can't thank any of you personally) and the overwhelming number of people who added this to their alert and favourite lists. That's truly a compliment and I sincerely hope this final part doesn't disappoint any of you.

Special thank you to Autumn (**watchyouwalk**), my beta, for her continuing support, advice and for putting up with my insane ramblings.

Spoilers: 2x23

Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist. Or the lyrics. Those belong to Stan Van Samang. Title stolen from Kings of Leon.

_-xxx-_

**Summer**

_Maybe I just finally _

_Found the place_

_Where it's me_

_That fills an empty space_

.

Along with sun-drenched days and starlit nights, summer brings a definite change to their relationship.

It's a sudden shift, but one that's been a long time coming. Even though at some level, they probably both knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, it still comes as a surprise.

It's not something that can be attributed to some defining moment or shared, late-night conversation. It's just the two of them, staying at the office a little too late after a particularly draining case that hits close to home for Lisbon. Emotionally, she's not handling it very well, so when they are the only ones left with the remnants of closed-case pizzas and various bottles of wine scattered around them, she's just the right amount of tipsy, her inhibitions lowered ever so slightly.

When she tries to stand up, her foot gets caught behind the chair, nearly knocking her to the floor, but Jane's there to catch her.

He's always there to catch her.

One minute they're both laughing at her clumsiness, and the next, she makes the mistake of looking up into his eyes, a faint hint of something other than amusement evident in his blue gaze. All traces of laughter soon fade, and for once in her life, she doesn't think before she acts. Consequences be damned.

Their first kiss isn't planned, passionate or even romantic. Lisbon reaches up on her tiptoes, meeting Jane's lips at a slightly awkward angle, since he wasn't expecting this. It lasts all of three seconds before she pulls away, slowly opening her eyes, deliberately keeping them on the floor. At any other moment, she would've been thrilled to know she finally succeeded in surprising Patrick Jane, of all people, but a blush is already making its way up her cheeks as realisation of what just happened settles in.

Yet, before she has the time to feel horrified and come up with an appropriate lie – she wasn't thinking; she was aiming for his cheek; she's drunk; all of the above – Jane gently tilts her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

What she sees reflected in his eyes leaves her more dizzy than any amount of alcohol ever could.

Their second kiss is everything the first one wasn't.

Jane doesn't waste time in sneaking his arms around her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible; exploring every corner of her mouth with his tongue, every part of her body with his hands as they travel up her spine. Lisbon lets herself melt fully into the kiss, tentatively threading her hands through his impossibly soft curls, indulging in the feeling.

For at least ten minutes, they do nothing but kiss.

When they finally pull apart, breathing hard, her initial awkwardness doesn't return. Whether that's a nice side-effect from the wine flowing through her veins, or if it's a direct result of Jane looking at her slightly bewildered, flustered and turned on all at the same time, she doesn't know.

The only thing Lisbon registers is the way his hand reaches for hers, a perfect fit, dropping a soft kiss on her knuckles as he gently leads them out of her office.

_-xxx-_

The next morning, she slowly wakes up to find Jane's tanned arm still wrapped protectively around her waist, his right leg tangled in between hers, keeping her firmly snuggled up to his chest. Having no recollection of when they ended up finally giving in to slumber, her eyelids are still heavy with sleep as last night's events flood her mind all at once.

A sense of shame filters through upon realising her initial reaction to Jane still lying by her side had been one of surprise. There's no denying that maybe it would've made things simpler if he _had_ decided to leave quietly in the middle of the night, but somehow the fact that he stayed - and the countless implications that knowledge might have - don't alarm her. While it would be easy to get up and pretend this was just a one-night-stand and a fun night, Lisbon already knows this is different. The only way for her to control a situation like this would be to brush it off, head for the exit right away, a small detail that immediately jumps to the forefront of her mind.

But she doesn't attempt to move, unable to prevent her lips from curling up into a small smile. Despite the realisation that they've finally succeeded in complicating their lives in a way neither of them needs, knowing that this will change everything, there's no ignoring the fact that she hasn't felt this good in years.

"What are you smiling about?" Jane's sleepy voice ruffles her hair, his nose nuzzling the back of her neck.

"How do you even know I'm smiling? You can't see my face," she responds.

"I can tell, trust me."

He releases his hold on her, propping himself up on his left elbow as she flips onto her back, letting out a sigh. Regardless of her initial determination to not let this be an awkward moment, Lisbon can't figure out how to approach this as she continues to stare at the ceiling. There's no excuse for what happened, and she silently admits she's not looking for one, which is a surprisingly reassuring feeling.

Jane watches her intently, seemingly unsure of what's running through her mind, but when Lisbon detects the genuine emotion in his look, she quickly averts her gaze, settling it on the ceiling instead. It's not often the infamous consultant can be accused of being sincere, but it appears as though he's not even trying to hide behind a charming mask this time.

"Everything all right?" He asks her seriously after another moment's silence, as he idly slides one finger down her bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"A little sore." Lisbon candidly admits, unable to hide a sheepish smile as Jane positively beams at her, obviously beyond pleased for being the reason her muscles ache in all the right places.

Her eyes travel around the room, taking in its current state of disarray. She frowns when locating the shirt she was wearing the night before near the dressing table, threatening to fall off as it hangs precariously on the edge of her mirror. It had definitely been rushed, their desire for each other far too dominant to waste much time on anything else, and the evidence is there in the form of various clothing items that are now scattered all over. Jane follows her gaze and a low chuckle escapes.

"Yes, if I recall correctly we were in a bit of a hurry last night." He grins impishly while leaning closer to whisper in her ear. "At least the first time around."

Lisbon groans, pulling the sheet over her head in an attempt to hide the blush sure to be taking over. She should have known he'd be completely insufferable in a situation like this, but Jane laughs loudly, tugging it back down just as quickly with a twinkle in his eyes as he glances appreciatively at the now-exposed upper half of her body.

"Don't. I love seeing that gorgeous shade of pink colouring your cheeks." He says earnestly, gently caressing her jaw line.

"We should probably get up." She ignores his comment when catching sight of the time. "We need to leave for work in half an hour, and I have a budget meeting first thing this morning."

As she sits up in bed, scanning the room for her robe, Jane's hand comes to rest on her arm, keeping her in place. A jolt of electricity seems to course through her instantly as the simple contact generates memories of the night before, leaving her mildly annoyed that even the slightest touch from Jane is enough to send her mind spinning.

"Lisbon," he starts hesitantly, unsure of how to phrase his next statement. "I don't regret this, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," she merely replies, but there's an unmistakable tinge of relief in her voice.

"But it's really what's been going through your mind."

"Jane," she warns. "Let's just leave it, okay? We don't have to discuss anything; we can be adults about this and simply move on."

"You want to move on?" He repeats while his hand drops from her arm to draw lazy patterns across her stomach, Lisbon's gaze suddenly following his every move closely, seemingly transfixed.

"Yes," she replies unconvincingly.

"Well, what if I don't agree?"

He scoots closer, dropping a soft kiss just above her clavicle, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone in a soothing manner.

"So," he goes on, "you're not to be persuaded into a repeat performance?"

A soft gasp escapes her lips as he gently but deliberately pushes her back down onto the bed, a clear hint of lust now evident in the misty blue eyes piercing hers. Lisbon's momentarily speechless as she briefly reflects on how easy it seems to be for him to have her at his mercy with just one touch, igniting sparks all over her body. She could definitely get used to having him in her bed.

"That's too bad, because I happened to enjoy it tremendously." He continues kissing his way up her body before looking into her eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear in an unexpected, affectionate gesture.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She comments jokingly, giving him her undivided attention.

"Hmm, that's funny; it seemed to get me everywhere last night." He says in a sultry voice, features automatically settling on a smug grin.

Before Lisbon can think of a suitable response, his lips cover the small, crescent-shaped scar just above her right hipbone, and her hand unconsciously buries itself in his curls, her eyes fluttering shut. Jane seems to have developed a minor fascination with that particular part of her body in the last eight hours, probably curious to learn how it had earned a permanent mark. He hears her short intake of breath when his tongue briefly darts out, moving across her stomach before making its way up to trace her collarbone. A soft moan escapes her, but she doesn't stop her own quest as her fingers trace circles all the way down his back, sending a ripple of desire straight through him.

When he finally reaches her lips, he pulls her in for a deep, leisurely kiss that sends a shiver down her spine. Jane is grinning against her lips, and she can feel her own smile widen. His skilled hands travel down the side of her body unhurriedly, taking the time to explore all over again before his head dips lower, encircling her belly button with his tongue.

Lisbon almost manages to find her voice and kindly remind him that they really do have to leave for work soon. But when Jane starts leaving a trail of soft kisses along the inside of her thighs, running his fingers slowly up her legs, a wave of pleasure washes over her, chasing away all coherent thoughts in a heartbeat.

_-xxx-_

As July passes and slowly gives way to August, they somehow manage to keep avoiding the proverbial elephant in the room. It appears both of them are studiously steering clear of the one topic of conversation that seems to be off limits. There's never any mention of what exactly is going on between them and they don't talk about where it's headed. Lisbon knows her reasons for not bringing it up until now are purely selfish, but reminding herself that Jane isn't keen on discussing it either only cements her decision to put it off.

It's unexpected how easily they seem to have fallen into a routine, and the agent is surprised at her own ability not to flee at the first sign of something actually resembling closeness. Maybe it's because Jane probably knows her better than any other man before him, but for the first time, she doesn't seem to be afraid of this. The small voice reminding her not to have any expectations, since she's only setting herself up for heartbreak, gets silenced on more than one occasion.

Jane claims Cho is the only team member who realises something has changed. Lisbon's second in command has always been a very astute agent and though Van Pelt has her suspicions at times, she doesn't see them confirmed.

"Cho knows." He announces one night at his apartment as he gets up to clear the table, and she follows him into the kitchen, carrying several leftovers.

"Knows what?" She replies absentmindedly.

He turns around at the sink, raising a single eyebrow to signify it should be quite obvious exactly what he's referring to. "That we're sleeping together. That we've decided to engage in a physical relationship. That I'm dipping my pen in the company's ink."

"Okay, okay," she swiftly interrupts. "I perfectly understood the first time, thank you."

He grins at the sudden flushed expression gracing her face.

"Van Pelt asked about you in the bullpen today," he continues, receiving another puzzled look from Lisbon. "She was wondering why you'd been in such a perceptibly good mood lately, and I have to say, I took that as a compliment. I do love the effect I have on you."

"That's not the only effect you have on me. I'm also annoyed with you on a daily basis." Lisbon muses, causing Jane to smile.

If there's anything he's grateful for, it's the fact that their relationship doesn't seem to have changed at all, with the exception of the obvious, of course. Their playfulness has never suffered, and they continue to tease and bicker about the most trivial things.

"Did she ask anything else?" Lisbon adds.

"No, the others responded they had no clue, but Cho looked up at me for a split second. I told you last week he'd figured it out."

"Yea, yea. All hail Patrick Jane, Mr. All-Knowing." She rolls her eyes while rinsing her hands at the sink, silence filling the space between them as Lisbon is lost in quiet contemplation.

"Does it bother you?" Jane inquires a minute later, having sensed the change in her behaviour.

She looks up, smiling when detecting the worried gleam in his eyes.

"Not really," she sighs. "It's not like Cho's going to start babbling about it to everyone else, he probably won't even mention it to anyone. It's just-,"

She breaks off her own train of thought, realising she was about to tackle the question of where this… thing between them is leading. Lisbon figures it's probably not a good sign if there doesn't seem to be a suitable word to describe what this is. The word relationship is a term she's always wanted to avoid at all costs, especially now given this is Jane she's dealing with, who's arguably the most emotionally unavailable man in the universe. Common sense would instruct her to start running in the opposite direction as fast as possible, but she hasn't so far.

"Nothing, never mind."

And for the first time since Lisbon has known him, Jane doesn't pry any further. In all likelihood, he's perfectly aware of what she was about to ask, but he offers up a small smile instead before she turns and heads back towards the living room.

_-xxx-_

Summer has never been Lisbon's favourite season. Any temperature over 78 degrees is simply too hot for comfort, especially considering the amount of running that occurs in her line of work. Therefore, it really shouldn't come as a surprise to her that, after almost a year's absence, Red John decides now would be a good time to rear his ugly head again.

The call comes in on a sweltering Monday afternoon, when they're in between cases, most of them wishing they were lying on an exotic beach somewhere instead of being stuck at the office with nothing to do.

Lisbon feels a numb disbelief descend upon her as the officer at the other end of the line is explaining assorted details of the crime scene. A young woman, 36 and married with two children, was found murdered in her home earlier that day when her husband had unexpectedly returned from work to pick up a forgotten file. Scribbling several things on her notepad, an unsettling feeling spreads through her before she thanks the officer, telling him they'll be at the scene in about 20 minutes.

She takes a moment to collect herself, not entirely sure how to break the news, though there's only one person she's worried about informing.

The rest of her team is in the bullpen, Jane and Rigsby keeping themselves busy by trying to determine who can solve the most Sudoku puzzles in ten minutes.

Lisbon carefully keeps quiet while she observes them, but Jane seems to sense her discomfort instantly, easily detecting the little cracks in her façade by reading her mood as she communicates more with just one look than she ever could with a hundred words. With a barely noticeable nod of her head, she turns back around, fully aware that he'll be following close behind.

He always is.

Lisbon closes the door before relaying the information from the Sacramento PD, realising that everything will change in the time it takes for the words to register in his mind. But knowing what's coming does absolutely nothing to soften the blow. She takes in the exact moment the air around him changes, coinciding with the immediate shift in his demeanour. She glances away, not willing to face what she knows will be showing clearly in his eyes. Anger, fear, revenge, but most of all… regret.

It's almost too much to bear.

Though she doesn't have a clue how dominant that particular emotion is, she instinctively understands it's there. At this very moment, Jane regrets ever having taken things with her to another level, even if it wasn't a deliberate choice at the time.

"We should leave," he says quietly, but resolutely.

There's an indecipherable look etched across the consultant's face, and his voice carries no trace of its former cheerfulness. Instead, it's full of either apprehension or rage, Lisbon can't tell which.

When they arrive at the victim's house, Jane confirms it to be a Red John murder without delay. The crime scene is messier than usual, the sinister signature smiley bearing more of a lopsided grin this time, giving off the impression that, because of the husband's unexpected return, Red John had been stressed for time.

The rest of the day seems to pass in a blur, and sometime after they've returned to HQ, Jane seems to have disappeared. When Lisbon comes back from briefing Hightower, she catches sight of the empty couch on the other side of the room.

"Where's Jane?" She addresses Van Pelt, unable to hide the worried note lacing her voice.

"He said he was going home, boss. He muttered something about needing some peace and quiet to think," the redhead explains.

Lisbon nods a distracted thank you, turning around almost listlessly as a million fleeting thoughts are running blindly, chaotically into one another. Pausing in the doorway, she only hesitates for a second before walking briskly towards the elevator, already fishing out her keys.

_-xxx-_

When Lisbon arrives at his apartment, there's absolutely no sign of him. Regardless of the fact she didn't expect him to be here in the first place, there's still a sinking feeling in her stomach, and her anxious mood doesn't wane for the remainder of the day. Calling him proves to be a futile task as it goes straight to voicemail and she suspects he won't be returning the message.

By the time the clock turns to 10pm, Lisbon figures there's no point in hanging around the office much longer; Jane's clearly not planning on coming back here either.

The knot of anxiety forming inside her increases by the minute, and she's genuinely debating whether it would be sensible to drive down to Malibu when she rounds the corner of her dimly lit street and Jane's trademark blue Citroën draws her attention at once. The knowledge that he's been here all along partly relieves the tension as she rushes inside.

There are no lights on but Jane's silhouette is clearly outlined against the pale light of the moon that filters through the blinds. He's staring at the wall in front of him, with the firm look he always gets while pondering some important issue or upcoming crazy plan.

"You're here." Lisbon blurts out as she flicks on a corner light.

Jane appears to be genuinely confused as his eyes slowly focus on her, his eyebrows rearranging into a frown.

"Where did you think I was?"

But Lisbon only shakes her head, not caring to explain that when he'd mentioned home to Van Pelt, she never would've thought he considered her house the safest place to hide. Though that small piece of information warms her heart, what little hope she just felt at finding him in her apartment vanishes when catching sight of the look in his eyes. It's one of quiet desperation, and he lets out a sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Throwing her jacket over the nearest chair, she walks over to the liquor cabinet, retrieving the bottle of 10-year-old Scotch hiding away at the back and pouring herself a glass of the amber liquid. Countless times over the last few weeks, she'd been on the verge of broaching this very subject and now it's too late; the matter has been taken out of her hands, leaving her horribly unprepared for the discussion she can sense is rapidly approaching.

Usually, they have little arguments or silly disagreements at least once a week. Never anything big, mostly just one trivial thing after another, but they both thrive on those discussions; neither one of them ever wants to be the first to stand down and admit defeat.

But this is different. This isn't just the next every-day discussion about who's jumping into the shower first. It doesn't even have anything to do with Jane coming up with some outrageous scheme that will possibly get her into trouble.

Now, Jane looks defeated for an entirely different reason, and she's already at a disadvantage.

"We have to end this." He bluntly states, much calmer than she would've given him credit for. "I should never have let it get this far. I was a fool to think that things could ever be different, just because we hadn't witnessed a Red John murder in a while. I made the mistake of allowing myself to be distracted for just one minute and he already felt the need to remind me that he's not going anywhere. I should've realised exactly how dangerous this was."

Lisbon puts her glass back on the table a little too forcefully, trying to keep calm despite having basically just been called a mistake. She whirls around, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Are you done?" Unwilling to allow any trace of hurt to creep into her voice, she walks to the kitchen for some ice by way of distraction.

"You have every right to be angry," he continues. "But you have to understand, Lisbon…," he trails off, avoiding her gaze. "I can't risk him finding out that… finding out about you. I just can't. I won't put you in that position."

If his heartfelt confession surprised her, she doesn't show it.

"First of all, I'd like to decide that for myself, if you don't mind," she coolly responds. "Have you noticed you just keep talking about yourself through all of this? _You're_ the one deciding that _you're_ ending this, but you're making the decision for the both of us, and why? Because of this convinction that you're putting me in danger? There are two of us in this…," she'd been about to say 'relationship' but swallowed it down at the last minute. "And I would like to make up my own mind. I face danger on a daily basis, Jane, so I just wish you'd trust me a little."

"This has nothing to do with trust." He replies, still composed as ever. "Red John's a predator, Lisbon. He carefully searches out his prey, studies them for awhile, waiting for the most opportune moment to attack. What do you suppose will happen when he discovers that you're–"

"Stop it!" She interrupts him angrily, unable to keep calm despite her best efforts. "Just stop! You're giving him exactly what he wants. You're already letting him win!"

"Of course I'm letting him win!" He suddenly raises his voice, and the fact that he's finally shouting is oddly reassuring; the whole resigned attitude was getting on her last nerve.

"I can't–," he chokes, making her wonder what he was about to say. "The other option is simply not acceptable." His voice is already back to steely, controlled determination. "I don't even want to think about the possible outcome if I didn't let him win. If I didn't...," he trails off again.

She can feel his darker thoughts gain the upper hand, but she's powerless against them if he decides to keep pushing her further and further away. Jane's features soften as he searches for words seemingly unsuccessfully, but Lisbon waits patiently, not knowing how to continue herself.

"He killed my wife and child." He says quietly, as if it's the first time she's being brought up to date. "And not because he just happened to choose them as his victims randomly, no. He targeted them specifically, only because I was stupid enough to taunt him on national television. And there are two types of people in this world; those who admit their mistakes and seek to correct them, attempt to compensate. And then there's those who deny they ever happened. I'm that first type, Lisbon. If I do something wrong, if something was my fault, I'll admit to it and do my best to atone for my mistake."

"By killing another human being?"

"That last term's debatable," he deadpans. "In any case, I don't plan on making the same mistake twice. I'm not a hero, I wouldn't be able to protect you. If anything, I'm a coward, and I'm just proving it now."

"Oh please, as if I would ever need you to protect me," she angrily interjects. "The last thing I want you to be is a hero, and I won't beg you not to go, Jane. If that's what you're expecting, then by all means," she gestures to the door, "you know your way out."

He's not quick enough to disguise the distress her heartless words cause when a flicker of hurt flits across his face. It may have been harsher than she'd intended, but somehow the fact that he would so willingly give up and is leaving her no choice in the matter only fuels her frustration. If there was any way, she'd direct all of her anger at the elusive serial killer instead, for once again hurting innocent people and disrupting all of their lives. But he's not the one currently sitting before her.

"The only way I can protect you," Jane continues as if she hasn't spoken, "is by leaving you alone. So that maybe you'll still have a fighting chance."

"Can't you see that's what he wants? He wants you to be miserable and alone."

Jane falters, fully aware of the truth to her words.

Pushed into an emotionless routine after his family's death, he didn't really allow himself to feel or experience much of anything, choosing instead to focus solely on making Red John pay for what he'd done. But gradually, that had started to change, and it could be attributed to one woman - the feisty brunette currently towering over him, trying to save him once again.

Still, even if his thirst for personal vengeance has started to dwindle lately, it doesn't take away the fear still associated with the killer's name. His foolish hopes of another chance at an actual future, his thinking he might rise above this with Lisbon's help... it all seems so unattainable now, and it's more painful than he could have ever imagined.

When he walked into that poor woman's bedroom only hours before, hearing her husband's sobs from the next room, it was almost simultaneously a look into his past and a sense of foreboding. The image of Jessica Wood's distorted face, her long hair spilling over the pillows with eyes staring off into space, is already haunting him.

"She looked like you." He whispers, before elaborating when he received a confused stare. "Today's victim, she resembled you; there were a lot of similarities."

The bitterness evaporates in a moment's breath when she takes in the lost and upsetting expression on his face.

"Jane, there's probably hundreds of women with long dark hair in this city alone. That was nothing more than a coincidence. You're reading far too much into this."

She walks over, finally sitting herself down next to him as she gently places a hand on his knee. "This is exactly what he hopes to achieve. He's trying to turn you against everyone else, against anyone who wants to help you, to make you believe you're alone in this. But you're not. Don't give him that satisfaction."

"Against people who want to help me?" he repeats cynically, his grimace intensifying. "Tell me, exactly who do you see helping me, Lisbon? Correct me if I'm wrong, but last time I checked, you still seemed to be vehemently opposed to what I ultimately plan on doing to Red John."

"You know that's not what I meant. We aren't some sort of brothers in arms; I won't help you kill him if it's still what you have in mind. But… anguish, pain, problems, they're all supposed to bring people together, not alienate them. You're not supposed to go through all of this alone. I'm here for you. And I want to help you, if only you'd let me. Don't distance yourself from me," she pleads in a hushed whisper.

"And then what? We wait until the time comes when you might have to arrest me? Do you really want to let it get that far? I know you're still hoping to change my mind... but I would hate to disappoint you."

Lisbon tries repeatedly to swallow the lump forming at the base of her throat but to no avail. The words stay locked up somewhere deep inside, even though part of her wants to get it through his thick head that making Red John suffer won't get his family back. On more than one occasion, she's wondered if Mrs. Jane would have approved of his plans if she were able to see him now, though voicing that particular question would instigate a whole other discussion.

Lisbon has never fooled herself into thinking he wouldn't be able to kill his nemesis – she _knows_ that he's fully capable. But she also knows his quest for vengeance is what he needs to hold onto, something he likes to hide behind, thinking that avenging his family's death is all he has left.

She'll just have to prove him wrong.

"Jane…," she gently tugs him closer, offering up a sincere look. "I'm not the enemy here. And no matter how much I wish you'd see my side of things, that's not what this is about. Right now, I just want you to give me a fair chance, instead of just immediately giving up. I honestly believe we're stronger together, anyway."

"Now you sound like a shrink." He retorts sullenly, letting out another frustrated sigh as his features settle into a frown. "'You have to let go of the revenge, Patrick, and try to find some happiness in your life. Remember that we are all individually weak but together strong.'" He quotes sarcastically. "I presume that's the gist of what you're telling me?"

"Speak for yourself, I'm not weak," she bluntly murmurs, and to her surprise, a modest chuckle actually escapes his lips.

"No…you're most definitely not. But that doesn't make you invincible either. No one is. And even now, instead of worrying about Red John who might very well be coming after you, you're more concerned about me than you are about your own safety and I wish you'd stop that."

She runs a hand through her hair, frustration bubbling over once again. "If you're so convinced he's going to come after me sooner or later, it won't make a difference if you stay away from me or not."

"Of course it makes a difference. Look at Kristina." He quickly puts up one hand, silencing her impending objection. "I know you'll just tell me again that none of it was my fault, but I was curious and wanted to reveal she was a fraud, didn't I? I wanted to see what game she was playing and it cost her. Red John jumped to the wrong conclusions, simply because we were having dinner. Cop or no cop, Lisbon, being around me is dangerous and it could get you killed. _I_ could get you killed." He stresses, as if his words aren't wreaking enough havoc as it is.

"Well, then I guess you'll just have to assume that by this point, it's already too late." She tries to ignore the look of pure desperation crossing his face. "You said so yourself, anyone who gets close to you is a target and I don't know if you've noticed, but you've practically been living here for the past two months, so it's a little late to start worrying about all of that now."

"All the more reason to put a stop to it. I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I wish-"

"Don't give me that," she heatedly interrupts. "Don't tell me you didn't know how this would end. You knew what you were doing every step of the way, you just never allowed yourself to think about what would happen once we got to this point. And now that we have, you're realising it's gotten beyond your control. You were in retreat from reality, Jane, and this is just a belated reaction, but one you saw coming all along. So don't sit here, in my house, telling me you didn't expect any of this. Because I won't believe you. No matter how persuasive you can be. You were fully aware of the probable consequences, you're just not willing to actually see it through."

She gets up, intent on pouring herself another drink when something catches her eye. It's one of his Sudoku booklets lounging on her coffee table, still turned to the page where he'd been finishing the last one. She notices the sweater he wore when they took an evening stroll only the week before, draped casually over the couch. If she travelled upstairs, she knows she'd find his toothbrush in her bathroom, his pyjama bottoms carefully folded on the chair next to her dressing table ever since he'd taken up residency in her bed.

The realisation that these possessions of his are lying comfortably scattered throughout her home makes her heart constrict unexpectedly. The knowledge that she's in far too deep and is most likely fighting a lost battle doesn't come easily.

She'll never be able to compete with Red John.

Lisbon turns around, facing away from him, because there's still that small part of her that won't let him see her most vulnerable side. She attempts to get control of her emotions, determined not to be exposed, when she suddenly feels his strong arms sneak around her waist lovingly, pulling her closer. Jane nestles his head in the crook of her neck and almost in spite of herself, she relaxes instantly and lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Covering his arms with her own, she leans back while his warm breath drifts across her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he simply whispers.

And before having the time to turn around in his arms, Jane opens up her left hand and drops something cold into her palm, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Lisbon looks down, staring at the spare key in her hand, not realising his arms are no longer circling her waist until she silently hears the front door close.

_-xxx-_

The warm stream of the shower doesn't rid her of the frustrated and disappointed feeling that's been clinging to her all week. As the days crept by, the Red John case once again produced no solid leads or useable evidence, leaving the team and herself in various states of exhaustion and irritation. That combined with having to cope with Jane around the office all week has left her absolutely drained. Carefully avoiding said consultant while giving off a general impression that nothing was wrong had proved to be energy draining. Jane hadn't made the slightest attempt at talking to her about their fight, or about the Red John case, and to Lisbon's surprise, he hadn't taken off on his own or tried to follow up on leads by himself.

It bothered her that Jane was seemingly unaware of the turmoil he'd caused inside her head while he didn't appear to be upset at all. At least, this is what Lisbon believed to be true until earlier that afternoon, when she walked out of the break room with a cup of coffee firmly in hand, intent on finishing her paperwork as soon as possible, and she finally saw a sign of the man behind the mask. The man she'd gotten to know so well by now.

The consultant was sitting on his well-loved couch, with a peculiar look and a frown etched on his face. She wouldn't have thought any better of it, if not for the fact that the magazine he was pretending to be reading was being held upside down. She'd almost walked over to point it out before deciding against it, figuring she'd best leave him alone or it would just cause more unnecessary confusion.

Still, she can't seem to chase the image of him sitting there out of her mind, looking incredibly lonely and more miserable than she'd seen him in a long time.

If there's one thing Lisbon completely abhors, it's feeling powerless, which is exactly how she's felt these past few days. She hadn't realised they'd practically spent every night together until the moment that got taken away.

The minute she let herself fall for Patrick Jane, she gave him the greatest power of all. The power to hurt her. And Lisbon is reminded yet again of why she never relinquishes control, never lets anyone come that close.

When she finally turns off the water, steps out of the shower and clears the mirror of steam, the face staring back at her doesn't seem like her own.

Changing into a pair of jeans and a simple black blouse, she's carefully combing through the knots in her hair when a noise suddenly catches her attention. She's about to disregard her worry and silently curse Jane for making her paranoid already, when the front door audibly closes with a short, dull click. Immediately switching into senior agent mode, Lisbon quickly walks out into her bedroom, striding over to the bedside table and taking her gun out of its holster. Approaching the stairs warily, she listens intently for any more sounds drifting towards her from downstairs, but only silence greets her.

After another moment, she starts descending the stairs one by one, her eyes expertly scanning the empty living room, looking for any sign of an intruder as her heartbeat picks up speed along the way. Upon reaching the last step, she rounds the corner quickly, gun drawn and aimed towards the kitchen this time when she notices a man standing by the counter.

Lisbon releases a sigh of aggravation and concealed relief when she finds Jane calmly staring back at her.

"Jane, what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She asks in exasperation, placing the gun on her coffee table with a thud.

The adrenaline fading quickly now that only Jane is standing before her, she sinks down onto the nearest armchair, automatically curling one leg beneath her as he approaches.

"No, I'm trying to prove a point."

"By breaking and entering into my apartment?"

"Exactly," he retorts, a sad quality to his voice. "You seem to think I'm joking when I say I constantly worry about your safety, but it took me exactly 20 seconds to pick that lock, so don't tell me you know how to keep psychotic and twisted people like Red John out. It's simple mistakes like these that could be fatal, Lisbon, and a perfect example of what I don't want for you. Always having to look over your shoulder, to wonder if you've locked up, if that car that appears to be following you is still the same one as this morning, if that man walking across the street isn't acting a little too suspiciously. I don't want you to become paranoid at my expense."

"I'm not becoming paranoid." She says irritably, choosing to ignore the fact she just came barging down the stairs wielding her gun around. "There's all sorts of dangerous people out there; it's not just Red John. Besides, I'm a trained professional; I know how to defend myself in more ways than one, and I have three different bolts on my door."

"Then why hadn't you bolted the door now? Why was it only locked?"

A lie is already waiting at the tip of her tongue, ready to engage in another discussion, but the heavy burden of her general exhaustion is catching up with her, and the last thing she wants is to fall right back into last week's fight.

"Because I was planning on driving over to your place." She answers eventually, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the hem of her blouse as she twists it around in her hands. "You left early this afternoon. No one knew why, so I was worried."

"Of course you were." She can see a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips, as if he's not at all surprised by her explanation in spite of his disapproval.

Though he appears composed and unmoved on the outside, Jane finds it harder to hide the effects from the past few days' discouraging events. This confirms Lisbon's earlier suspicion back at HQ, when she caught him looking distracted, that he's far from okay. It's the main reason she decided to pay him an impromptu visit, even though every fibre in her being had been telling her not to.

But if the only reason he came over was to pick another fight, she's got half a mind to kick him out right this minute. Her eyes stray to the right as she looks almost longingly at her gun, and Jane walks closer still, taking a seat on the coffee table so he's facing her.

"You can't shoot me, no jury in the world would believe your claim of self defence." He quips as if she's been thinking out loud.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. When they hear about what I always have to suffer through with you, they'll rule in my favour. This would definitely be considered a case of extenuating circumstances."

Her retort actually makes a grin appear, and Lisbon is startled by how effortlessly they can fall back into the same routine as if nothing has changed.

"Believe it or not," he goes on after another moment, his tone of voice suddenly almost imploring. "I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Could've fooled me," she mutters.

"Teresa…"

Whenever he says her name like that, almost reverently in an uncharacteristically soft voice, Lisbon still feels actual butterflies in her stomach, and this time's no different. Usually it has an instant calming effect, but the uncertainty of why he's here keeps her on edge, and Jane doesn't continue, searching for the right words while simultaneously trying to get his thoughts in order.

He's barely slept all week, his bed suddenly far too cold and empty without Lisbon's warm body curled up against his. The Red John case still occupied his mind but not in the same compulsive way as before. It appears as though his purpose in life had started to shift and with it, the all-encompassing obsession for his archenemy ceased to be the most important part of his life.

He might not remember the turning point where Lisbon became the only thing that matters and makes sense to him most of the time, but he figures it's probably at the same crossroad where she became the only thing he has left. Somewhere along the way, the thought of accomplishing his revenge had lost its appeal. Because now he actually found something else worth living for, and he wouldn't just be sacrificing his own sad little excuse for a life anymore.

Unfortunately, none of that means his fear would suddenly vanish overnight.

He'd loved Angela with all his heart, there was no question about that. They'd run away together, finally able to make a decision on their own, providing something to hold onto. Yet, when push had come to shove, he hadn't really taken her out of the carnie world. They had just conveniently relocated to another state, another scene - a whole new world of marks, of people to con. That is to say, he had. He'd been blinded by fame and money, too caught up in other people's foolishness to recognise his own.

He's not about to make that same mistake twice, because he enjoys every second of being with Lisbon. So much so that, at times, it's almost frightening. He figures everyone probably mourns the loss of a loved one, but Jane knows he wouldn't survive it. Not a second time around.

And his worst nightmare, the thought of Red John finding out about Lisbon, had been enough to frighten him to the core, unintentionally hurting her in the process.

She's the only one who still has faith in him, even if he is incredibly undeserving. The one person who's never pitied him, doesn't put up with all of his antics or accuse him of being a fraud, which is basically what he's been his entire life.

Jane came to realise a number of months ago that Lisbon had finally succeeded in slipping past his defences. At first, he was mostly confused as to how exactly he'd allowed that to happen, quickly followed by a period of trying to distance himself from her once understanding had reached him. But eventually, he made his peace with the fact that she had, somewhere along the way, managed to break through. Something that manifested itself once again these past few days, as it had only taken exactly one week of barely seeing her for Jane to realise that she's one of the best parts of his life, and he _more_ than missed her.

He thought it'd be easier, keeping his distance and at the same time knowing she'd be safe, but he was wrong, and it only made him realise to what extent he's come to care for her and needs her.

"You were right, before. I'd been acting selfish because I didn't want to deal with any of it, didn't want to bring it up for fear of where the conversation would lead, knowing that it would change what we had. And then I panicked. There's no justification for it, I know that, but… I needed some time."

"Well, you have all the time in the world, don't you? You made it abundantly clear that I'm not supposed to be anywhere near you."

She's glad that the pain she still feels because of him leaving instead of trying to talk to her is momentarily disguised by the resentment in her voice.

"Why _did_ you come here?" Lisbon asks after watching him closely, trying to distinguish the varying emotions that are vying for control of his features.

And that may be the only question Jane doesn't know how to answer properly. Pondering the answer repeatedly on his way over here hadn't helped; so many thoughts running through his mind that he spent more than 10 minutes simply watching her house from his car, ready to change his mind and drive off again at any moment.

"All right, look," she adds, mistakenly interpreting his silence for indecision. "It's okay, you know. I've been giving all of this some thought too, and maybe I was being unreasonable. I knew at the start of this that you'd eventually feel this way, that you'd have second thoughts. It's not like I expected anything more, so... really, there's no need to worry about it, I'll be fine."

Jane immediately notes she's back to her defensive self. Putting up each and every wall he'd taken down these past few weeks, not allowing him to see how badly he hurt her. She probably figures his only reason for being here is to end it once and for all, and the woman sitting before him in no way resembles the vulnerable Lisbon he'd seen last week. The one who'd still been willing to fight and give it a chance, refusing to give up on him. On them. He knows this is her way of giving him an out, nothing more than an act purely for his benefit.

The only difference is that he no longer wants a way out, not if it means losing her in the process. Maybe he'd been too much of a fool before to realise that shutting her out isn't the answer. Better late than never, hopefully. He'd tried to justify it countless times, assuring himself that there was no other option, but the outcome remained the same. In the end, he ends up losing either way.

"I'm not having second thoughts." He responds after a moment's silence, seeing the mild surprise at this revelation register on her face.

"Oh, really? That's not what I gathered last time you were here." She replies somewhat sarcastically.

"I never had second thoughts about you, Lisbon, or about us," he adds. "I'm not saying I wouldn't have done things differently had I known beforehand, but I don't regret any of my decisions."

"There doesn't seem to be much difference." Lisbon remarks tonelessly, taking care not to let the flutter in her stomach turn into a hint of hope.

He looks at her, trying to communicate everything he can't say out loud through one meaningful look.

"There is, though. If I had done things differently, I'd still be alone and miserable, just like you said. I simply wouldn't know any better. The difference is that I've been thinking about everything you said to me all week, more than I ever have in these past 8 years. And I'm starting to believe that maybe you weren't entirely wrong about it all. That maybe I should stop letting a severely disturbed man dictate my life."

He moves off the table, suddenly a touch of nervousness to his step as he starts pacing around the living room.

"The difference is that I choose life." He states, averting his gaze but watching her closely out of the corner of his eyes. "I choose life now. Even if I'm not quite sure how to live it anymore," he adds, unable to keep a sad expression at bay.

His quiet confession is enough to make the last lingering drops of apprehension and frustration disappear, and Lisbon moves out of the chair in one smooth motion, walking closer. Putting a hand on his arm while the other reaches out to caress his cheek as she forces him to look at her, there's nothing that suggests Jane's not being sincere in this moment. The aloofness and controlled determination of the week before have packed and gone, leaving only the broken man behind that resides underneath.

Sometimes it's like watching a beautiful painting, with multiple scratches on the surface. Though barely discernible at first, the longer you stand and stare at it, the more of them you end up discovering.

It takes a considerable effort on her part to not envelop him in a hug this instant and bury her head in his chest, the feeling of his arms wrapped tightly around her still crystal clear in her mind.

"Jane...you have to stop thinking you're...," she pauses, searching for the right words. "That you're beyond repair. That you'll never rise above this. Why is it so hard for you to let someone else care about you?"

Her words stir something deep inside him, pushing away at the layers of guilt, shame and anger that have piled up in his heart and stifled all his memories of past happiness. And along with them, any hope of future happiness.

"You can't just start pushing me away at the first sign of trouble, Jane. This - we will never work if you're planning on making all of the decisions on your own; if you won't let me help you. You're always going on about wanting to save me, and I know you'd do anything to help the rest of the team if they'd need it, but we're never allowed to return the favour."

Jane holds her gaze for a long moment as if deliberating his answer. There's a part of him that wants to promise her the world, that would give her anything her heart desires because he owes her that much. Except he knows that talking to her, including her in the chaos that is his mind and his thoughts, won't be easy. But if there's anyone he's willing to make an effort for, it's definitely the woman who's possibly singlehandedly saving his humanity. Green eyes are staring worriedly into his, having suddenly abandoned all pretence, and he realises that anyone else would've told him to go to hell long ago.

"How do I know you won't just change your mind tomorrow and disappear after all?" Her whispered question reveals a deeper fear beneath and Jane tentatively reaches out, affectionately running one loose curl between his fingers.

"You don't." He whispers truthfully, but before those quietly spoken words have time to settle, he pulls her closer, giving her a soft, lingering kiss. "But I promise that I'll try. I'm serious, Lisbon. I can't offer you much of anything, and I know that you have absolutely no reason to trust me on this. But I'm willing to give this a chance, if you are."

She shoots him a sideways glance, knowing there's one question still lurking in the shadows, and a week ago she would've let it go, happy to pretend nothing else existed outside of them – outside of this moment. Yet now, things are different, and she can't afford to let this go any further if she's only setting herself up for more hurt and heartbreak.

"What about when we catch Red John? What happens then?"

Being willing to give it a chance and actually going through with it are two very different things, Lisbon muses.

"I can't give you any guarantees. I wish that I could. I won't lie and tell you that I'd rather see him tried in front of a jury, because I will always believe he doesn't deserve that kind of compassion. I'd rather see him die a slow and painful death, because it still wouldn't even come close to the pain he inflicted on all of his victims."

Lisbon holds back another sigh at the last minute when Jane reaches for her hand, giving a gentle tug before lifting her chin with one finger, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"But I know a wise person once told me that the wrong thing done for the right reason, is still the wrong thing. And I'm finding she's been right about a lot of things."

He decides not to disclose anything more, because it's a truth neither of them is ready to handle. That she spent most of her time these past few years trying to influence him, thinking in the end that he'd never see reason, but she was wrong.

Somewhere along the way, she became his reason.

Lisbon almost can't believe he's repeating her own advice. She never thought Jane was even listening when she was trying to make him see her side of things. She realises it's not an affirmation that he won't kill Red John, but it's a definite sign that something has changed and even the small victories count where he's concerned. It probably took a lot for him to even gather the courage to come here, to push his pride aside. And that's something at least.

"Now if only I could get you to admit that last part in front of the rest of the team…."

The clear hint of a smirk on her face is enough to shatter the invisible barrier between them, and Jane charges forward, placing his hands on either side of her face, pressing his lips to her forehead before pulling her into a hug. He can't resist inhaling her familiar scent as her arms instinctively encircle his waist.

"I really am sorry," he murmurs into her ear while gently stroking her hair. "I didn't come here expecting you to just forget or forgive everything. I didn't really expect much of anything."

She pulls away, the honesty warming her heart when Jane's blue eyes pierce hers, and she remains silent.

"But really," he goes on, and Lisbon immediately detects the slightly teasing tone of voice she had already missed. "I've come to realise no one else will put up with me."

She laughs at his offhand remark, and although she knows they're far from getting through this, right now the fact that he's here is somehow more than enough. And if he's willing to try, then so is she.

_-xxx-_

As late night turns into early morning, Lisbon finds her thoughts keep drifting back to the man once again lying beside her, keeping much-needed sleep away. Having to function at work in a couple of hours will definitely prove to be a challenge, and though Jane's eyes are closed, she imagines he hasn't drifted off once either. It had been well past 3am when they finally retreated upstairs, Lisbon's voice all but hoarse from talking about most things they'd always avoided before.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" His own creaky voice disrupts her musings.

"Sorry," she smiles. "I can't seem to fall asleep."

His arm reaches out, pulling her closer as he rolls onto his back, tucking her head underneath his chin to snuggle closer to her warm body.

"I'm familiar with the problem." He mumbles, his hand lazily running along her spine. "I hope you're not losing sleep because you're worried I won't be here when you wake up. Because I can tell you that's one promise I plan on keeping."

Though she can't see his face, the seriousness in his voice is all the confirmation she needs.

"Would you blame me if I was?"

"Probably not. But you forget that I now appreciate the fact that maybe I'm stronger with you by my side, after all."

"Individually weak but together strong?" She grins, repeating his statement from the week before as she props herself up on an elbow to look at him with amused eyes.

"Yea," he touches the tip of her nose. "Though we both know that just means I'm the weak one and you're strong for the both of us."

"I'd say we're pretty good at the whole role reversal thing, so I'm sure we can manage," she chuckles.

"Well, that's good. Because I'll need you to be my knight in shining armour."

"Deal." She captures his lips softly, as if to seal it. "You've always been my damsel in distress, anyway."

His laughter echoes through her bedroom as Lisbon reaches out and gently brushes a stray curl off his forehead, less hesitantly than Jane's used to, a delicate sign of affection.

The red morning light momentarily mesmerises her as it seeps through the curtains, dancing across his face and bathing the room in a soft glow, already announcing another warm and sunny day.

They're both aware none of this will be easy. And though not knowing the outcome is usually what relationships are all about, nothing about this particular one is normal. Still, she's never been eager to give up and not face down a challenge, despite all of the complications that might inevitably arise.

So when Jane pulls her in for another kiss, the last thoughts of serial killers and gruesome crime scenes leave her mind all at once, and she suddenly hears her mother's most precious advice resound in her head.

As Lisbon smiles against his lips, she makes a silent promise to take that advice to heart.

From now on, she would simply have a little faith.

_-xxx-_

_Fin_


End file.
